"The  eight  bunched  well  together  for  the  first  half  of   the  first 
round."  —(See  page  13.5.) 


SHADOWS 
LIFTED 

A  Sequel  to  Saint  Cuthbert's 


BY 


REV.  J.  E.  COPUS,  SJ. 

[CUTHBERT] 

Author  of  "Harry  Russell," 
"Saint  Cuthbert's,"  etc. 


With  Frontispiece 


New  York,  Cincinnati,  Chicago 

BENZIGER    BROTHERS 

Printers  to  the  Holy  Apostolic  See 
1904 


VJNW.  OF  CALIF.  LIBKAKY.  LOS  ANGELES 


BY  THE  SAME  A  UTHOR  : 

HARRY  RUSSELL,  a  Rockland  College  Boy. 

i2mo,  cloth,  with  frontispiece,     .     ...     $0.85 

SAINT  CUTHBERT'S.  i2mo,  cloth,  with  frontis- 
piece,   0.85 


For  sale  by  all  Catholic  Booksellers,  or  --nailed  postpaid  on 
receipt  of  price  by  the  publishers. 

BENZIGER  BROTHERS, 

New  York,  36-38  Barclay  St.,    Cincinnati,  343  Main  St. 
Chicago,  211-213  Madison  St. 


Copyright,  1904,  by  BENZIGER  BROTHERS. 


CONTENTS. 


CHAPTER  I. 

PAGE 

AFTER  VACATION 5 

CHAPTER  II. 
THE  NKW  PREFECT 13 

CHAPTER  III. 
A  MYSTERY  FOR  CLAUDE 22 

CHAPTER  IV. 
CLARENCE  GILKINS ^i 

CHAPTER  V. 
A  WONDER  WORKER 4 1 

CHAPTER  VI. 
THE  HINDU'S  STORY ,. rr 

CHAPTER  VII. 

MR.  HILLSON  LEAVES g0 

CHAPTER  VIII. 

A  MOTHER'S  MEMORY 6g 

CHAPTER  IX. 
How  GRAY  TOOK  CARE  OF  HIMSELF 8o 

CHAPTER  X. 
CLAUDE'S  LETTER q0 

CHAPTER  XI. 
SOME  FAMILY  HISTORY oc 

CHAPTER  XII. 
AN  HONORABLE  COMBINATION I0, 

CHAPTER  XIII. 
PLANS 113 


2126087 


4  CONTENTS. 

CHAPTER  XIV. 

PAGE 

THE  GREAT  DAY  ARRIVES 122 

CHAPTER  XV. 

SOME  TRACK  EVENTS .  •    *3 l 

CHAPTER  XVI. 

SOME  DISCOVERIES H° 

CHAPTER  XVII. 
IDENTIFIED 148 

CHAPTER  XVIII. 
IN  CLASS 155 

CHAPTER  XIX. 
A  FATHER'S  FEARS 165 

CHAPTER  XX. 
WAS  IT  A  COINCIDENCE  ? . .    173 

CHAPTER  XXI. 
THE  INVITATION 180 

CHAPTER  XXII. 
GILKINS  FINDS  FRIENDS 190 

CHAPTER  XXIII. 
SOME  HISTRIONIC   FUN 199 

CHAPTER  XXIV. 
RETROSPECTIVE 215 

CHAPTER  XXV. 
LEAVE-TAKING 226 

CHAPTER  XXVI. 
CHUDWALLA 233 

CHAPTER  XXVII. 
How  IT  ENDED , , , .  250 


Shadows  Lifted. 


CHAPTER  I. 

AFTER  VACATION. 

ALL  day  long,  by  various  trains,  boys  were  returning  to 
old  St.  Cuthbert's  college.  In  the  yard  there  was  much 
bustle  and  confusion  and  hurrying  on  this  second  Tuesday 
of  September.  Old  boys,  that  is,  those  who  had  returned 
to  college,  felt,  and  were,  perfectly  at  home.  Many  were 
taking  advantage  of  the  lax  discipline  of  "first  day"  to 
do  certain  things  with  impunity,  fully  conscious  that 
such  attempts  would  not  be  tolerated  a  day  or  two  hence, 
when  routine  had  been  once  more  established. 

Every  now  and  then  a  teamster  would  drive  into  the 
yard  with  a  high  load  of  trunks  from  the  depot.  These 
were  eagerly  pounced  upon  by  their  owners,  who  soon 
stowed  them  away  in  the  trunk-room,  in  the  far  corner 
of  the  yard. 

The  Rhetoricians  and  the  Philosophers,  among  whom 
we  shall  find  our  old  acquaintances,  had,  with  their  supe- 
rior experience,  shipped  their  trunks  before  departing 
from  their  homes.  These  grave  doctors  in  Israel  had  now 
merely  to  watch  the  bustle  and  noise  and  excitement  of 
the  less  experienced  newcomers,  laughing  at  the  mishaps 
of  this  one,  teasing  the  more  anxious,  and  not  unfre- 
quently  lending  a  strong  hand  at  lifting  an  unusually 


6  AFTER  VACATION. 

heavy  box,  which  was  perhaps  filled  by  mother  and  sisters 
with  everything  best  calculated  to  cause  the  happy  owner 
to  become  an  inmate  of  the  infirmary  for  many  days  to 
come. 

Notwithstanding  their  vast,  and  to  them  immeasurably 
superior  experience,  the  "old  hands"  among  the  boys — 
those  who  had  already  returned  four  or  five  times — felt 
the  strangeness  of  the  position.  Love  their  college  as 
much  as  they  might — and,  as  those  know  who  have  read 
Howard  Hunter's  experiences,  most  of  the  boys  with 
whom  we  are  concerned  did  love  old  St.  Cuthbert's  with 
a  love  loyal  and  true — yet  they  felt  that  college  was  not 
home.  Mother's  sweet  voice  was  not  there,  and  sister's 
kindly  ministrations  were  now  for  a  time  things  only  to 
be  remembered. 

"First  day,"  no  matter  how  often  it  is  repeated,  is,  after 
all,  a  strange  day  in  one's  college  life.  The  transition 
from  the  home  life  of  the  family  circle  to  the  necessarily 
stricter,  public,  and  unrelaxing  discipline  of  a  college  is 
always  abrupt,  and  being  so,  it  is  unpleasant  even  to  the 
most  college-hardened  youth. 

On  this  particular  occasion  the  old  place  looked  un- 
wontedly  strange,  for  there  was  some  impertinent  grass 
actually  growing  right  in  the  college  yard — a  pathetic 
token  of  a  summer's  neglect  and  desertion.  It  is  the 
experience  of  most  boys,  when  they  see  grass  growing  on 
their  own  special  domain — the  yard — on  the  first  day  of 
term,  that  they  cannot  help  taking  its  presence  there  as 
a  personal  affront.  Grass  in  the  yard  makes  old  boys 
feel  "blue"  and  young  boys  downright  homesick. 

Mr.  Hillson,  the  prefect,  was  particularly  busy  assign- 
ing beds  in  the  dormitory,  and  selecting  suitable  desks 


AFTER  VACATION  7 

in  the  study-hall.  The  latter  occupation  was  no  easy  task. 
Knowing  how  much  the  results  of  class-work  depended 
on  proper  study,  and  how  much  good  study  depended  on 
a  suitable  selection  of  desks  in  the  study-hall  and  on 
suitable  companions,  the  prefect  was  particularly  anxious 
to  put  as  few  troublesome  boys  together  as  possible.  He 
tried  to  scatter  those  known  to  be  troublesome  in  such  a 
way  as  to  prevent  them  being  a  positive  detriment  to  the 
better  disposed  and  more  studiously  inclined. 

The  prefect  of  studies,  with  several  assistants,  was  busy 
examining  the  newcomers  and  assigning  them  to  the 
various  classes  according  to  their  proficiency ;  the  kindly, 
white-haired  President  held  "open  house"  at  his  office, 
giving  hearty  welcome  to  the  old  students  as  they  came 
flocking  in  to  greet  him,  or  kindly  words  of  welcome  and 
of  warning  to  those  who  had  just  arrived  for  the  first 
time. 

Howard  Hunter,  Frank  Stapleton,  Harry  Selby,  and 
Rob  Jones  sat  on  a  tilted  bench  outside  the  study-hall. 
Greetings  among  these  old  friends  were  over.  They  were 
now  watching  the  number  of  new  faces  as  the  strangers 
wandered  listlessly  about  amid  their  new  surroundings. 

"It's  a  gigantic  shame,"  suddenly  remarked  Frank 
Stapleton  vehemently. 

"What  is,  Frank?"  asked  Hunter. 

"Oh,  everything!  Look  at  that  grass!  eugh!  Then 
look  at  those  new  boys.  There  doesn't  seem  to  be  a 
decent  fellow  in  the  lot.  I  don't  believe  Claude  Winters 
is  coming  back  either.  And  then  to  add  to  our  misfor- 
tunes, I  have  just  learned  that  Mr.  Hillson  is  not  going  to 
stay  this  year.  He  told  me  he  was  going  away  to  study 
to  be  a  priest.  Just  as  if  they  couldn't  ordain  him  at 


8  AFTER  VACATION. 

once  and  let  him  stay  here.  I'm  sure  he  knows  enough — 
why,  he  knows  more  than  the  President  himself !" 

The  latter  part  of  this  boyish  speech  showed  how  highly 
Frank  Stapleton  esteemed  Mr.  Hillson's  learning  and 
abilities,  for  to  the  boys  the  President  was  Knowledge 
personified.  The  speech  also  indicated  how  little  he  knew 
of  the  requirements  for  the  priesthood. 

"Hold  on,  Frank,"  exclaimed  Howard  Hunter.  "You 
are  making  out  too  strong  a  case  every  way.  These  new 
boys  may  not  be  so  bad  after  all.  Many  of  them,  it  is  true, 
do  not  look  very  prepossessing,  but  let  us  wait  until  they 
get  under  college  influence.  Probably  not  one  of  them  is 
as  bad  as  you  are  inclined  to  paint  him." 

"Oh,  I  know  you,"  responded  the  other.  "You  wouldn't 
let  a  certain  personage  be  painted  as  black  as  he  is." 

"Humph !  that's  what  you  say.  But  what  you  say  about 
Mr.  Hillson  is  bad  news  indeed.  Are  you  sure  he  is  going 
to  leave  us?" 

"Sure — he  told  me  so  just  now,"  replied  the  other 
gloomily. 

"He  told  me,  too,"  said  Rob  Jones,  "and  I'm  terribly 
sorry  to  hear  it.  If  there's  one  man  in  the  college  that  can 
keep  me  straight,  it's  Mr.  Hillson." 

"Nonsense,  Rob,"  said  Hunter;  "you  don't  want  any 
man  to  keep  you  straight,  old  fellow.  You're  straight 
enough  yourself — now." 

The  last  word  was  said  slowly,  and  with  hesitation. 

"Now.;  that's  just  it,  Howard.  Straight  enough  now, 
but  that  is  chiefly  owing  to  Mr.  Hillson,  and  you  fellows. 
Suppose  we  were  to  get  a  new  prefect  with  whom  we 
couldn't  get  along  ?" 

"We  won't  suppose  anything  of  the  kind,"  said  Hunter ; 


AFTER  VACATION.  9 

"it  isn't  fair  to  the  new  man.  Let's  see  who  he  is,  and  what 
he  is  like,  and  form  our  opinion  afterward.  But  what 
makes  you  think  Claude  Winters  is  not  coming  back, 
Frank?" 

"Because  he  isn't  here,"  replied  Stapleton.  "This  would 
be  the  sixth  time  he  has  come  to  college,  and  he  has  always 
come  on  the  noon  train  of  the  first  day,  and  now  it's  near 
five  o'clock.  There's  the  whistle  of  the  last  train  from  his 
direction.  If  he  is  not  here  in  a  quarter  of  an  hour,  I  shall 
put  it  down  that  he  is  not  coming." 

"Why,  here's  Ambrose  Bracebridge  from  Rosecroft 
Manor!"  shouted  Rob  Jones,  as  the  son  of  the  Major 
walked  into  the  yard. 

The  boys  gave  him  a  hearty  welcome  to  St.  Cuthbert's. 
As  soon  as  the  greetings  were  over  they  conducted  their 
non-Catholic  friend,  first  to  the  President,  and  then  to  the 
prefect  of  studies. 

The  President  was  much  taken  with  the  manly,  gentle- 
manly appearance  of  Ambrose.  He  saw  a  well-made 
young  fellow  of  about  seventeen,  neatly  dressed,  and  bear- 
ing a  fine,  open  countenance.  His  well-rounded  face  bore 
traces  of  good  nurturing,  without  being  at  all  fat  or  flabby. 
The  jaw  was  strong  and  showed  determination,  which 
was  emphasized  by  firm  lips,  which,  when  parted,  revealed 
a  handsome  set  of  well-preserved,  laughing  teeth.  An 
earnest  look  in  the  brown  eyes  gave  a  dignity  to  the 
bronzed  face.  The  forehead  was  rather  low  and  was 
ornamented  with  somewhat  long,  wavy  hair,  the  rpots  of 
which  grew  far  down  in  front.  In  a  large  city,  Ambrose 
Bracebridge  would  easily  have  passed,  had  he  worn  more 
expensive  clothing — which,  by  the  way,  he  possessed,  but 
had  good  sense  not  to  bring  to  college — for  one  of  those 


10  AFTER  VACATION. 

golden  youths  of  the  modern  club.  But  the  President  saw 
in  him  more  than  the  mere  society  butterfly.  The  old 
gentleman  thought  he  discerned  here  the  makings  of  a  fine, 
honest,  sturdy  man,  and  he  determined  that  if  careful 
training  and  much  experience  could  do  it,  he  would 
develop  all  the  best  talents  of  the  boy  before  him.  With 
what  success  the  President's  intentions  met,  this  story  has 
largely  to  do. 

After  a  few  kindly  words  of  welcome  the  President  dis- 
missed him,  saying : 

"You  do  not  come,  Bracebridge,  as  a  complete  stranger 
to  St.  Cuthbert's.  Your  father's  generous  invitation  to  a 
dozen  of  our  boys  last  June  has  made  you  more  or  less 
acquainted  here.  Keep  the  college  rules.  Study  hard 
and  play  hard,  and  then  I  am  sure  you  will  be  happy 
with  us." 

"I  mean  to  be,  sir,"  said  the  boy  earnestly. 

"That's  right,  that's  right.  Good-by,  boys.  Remember 
I  shall  always  be  glad  to  see  you." 

In  this  way  they  were  dismissed  to  make  room  for 
others  equally  anxious  to  pay  their  respects  to  the  head 
of  the  college.  When  outside  the  President's  door,  Frank 
Stapleton  said  to  Bracebridge : 

"One  on  you,  old  fellow." 

"One  what?     What  do  you  mean?" 

"We  all  make  breaks  sometimes,  don't  we,  Howard?" 
and  there  was  the  usual  mischievous  twinkle  in  Frank's 
eyes. 

"Have  I  been  guilty  of  any  breach  of  etiquette?  When? 
where?  how?"  asked  Ambrose  in  real  distress. 

"Don't  alarm  yourself,"  replied  Hunter;  "you  have  no 
knowledge — as  yet — of  what  a  tease  Stapleton  is.  What 


AFTER  VACATION.  11 

he  refers  to  is  your  addressing  a  priest  as  'sir,'  while  a 
Catholic  always  says  'Father.'  " 

"Dear  me,  I  am  very  sorry !  Do  you  think  the  President 
is  offended?  I  wouldn't  have  done  it — indeed  I  didn't 
know — you  see  how  it  is :  I  am  totally  ignorant  of  your 
customs.  Do  you  think  he  is  offended?  Shall  I  go  and 
apologize?  Tell  me  what  to  do,  please." 

The  boys  were  delighted  with  Bracebridge's  evident 
desire  to  make  himself  agreeable  and  not  to  give  offense. 
The  gentlemanly  training  he  had  received  at  home  showed 
itself. 

"It  seems  so  strange  to  me  to  call  any  one  who  is  not  my 
father  by  the  sacred  name  of  father,"  said  the  boy. 

"Because  of  the  sacredness  of  the  name,  and  by  reason 
of  the  reverence  in  which  we  hold  our  priests  on  account 
of  their  sacred  office,  we  give  them  that  most  sacred  of  all 
names,"  said  Hunter.  "It  is  the  custom  with  us,  and  you 
will  soon  get  used  to  it." 

Stapleton's  teasing  humor,  however,  was  in  the  ascen- 
dant at  the  moment.  With  a  serious  face  he  began  again. 

"I  think,  Ambrose,  you  had  better  go  back,  knock,  enter, 
fall  on  your  knees,  and — " 

"Rubbish,"  put  in  Jones,  who  saw  that  Bracebridge  was 
taking  the  matter  in  earnest,  "why,  man,  you  couldn't 
offend  the  President  if  you  tried." 

This  rather  extravagant  statement  was  taken  for  what 
it  was  worth  by  the  new  boy,  whose  fears  now  began  to  be 
allayed. 

The  four  then  invaded  the  office  of  the  prefect  of 
studies,  but  the  "old  boys"  were  ignominiously  dismissed. 
Father  Lovelace  did  not  intend  for  a  moment  to  expose 
the  newcomer  to  the  annoyance  of  a  semi-public  exami- 


12  AFTER  VACATION. 

nation  before  he  placed  him  in  the  class  to  which  he  should 
belong.  Ambrose's  friends  retired,  therefore,  as  gracefully 
as  boys  manage  to  do  on  such  occasions. 

In  about  ten  minutes  Bracebridge  came  out  into  the 
yard,  bearing  a  card  in  his  hand. 

"What  class?"  asked  his  friends,  excitedly. 

"I'm  sure  I  don't  know.  I  don't  know  your  system  yet, 
you  know,"  was  the  reply. 

"I  know,  you  know,  that  you  don't  know,  you  know,  but 
as  soon  as  I  know  I'll  let  you  know,  you  know,"  said 
Stapeton,  as  he  reached  for  the  card. 

But  Jones  was  too  quick.    He  seized  it  and  read  it. 

"Great  land  of  the  snark!"  he  shouted. 

"Is  that  on  the  card !"  asked  Hunter. 

"No,  but  look  at  that,  will  you !" 

Howard  took  the  card  and  was  surprised  at  what  he 
saw.  He  read  one  word :  "Rhetoric." 

"How  in  the  name  of  all  that's  rhetorical  did  you  get 
that  high  class — and  a  new  man,  too !"  asked  Stapleton,  in 
real  surprise. 

Such  a  thing  had  never  been  heard  of  before,  that  a  new 
boy  should  be  fit  for  the  highest  classical  class  in  the 
college. 

"How  on  earth  did  you  do  it?"  asked  Jones. 

"I  don't  know,  really.  You  see  I  graduated  the  year 
before  last  at  a  private  semi-military  academy  in  the  East 
There  they  certainly  taught  classics  and  mathematics  well. 
Then,  knowing  that  I  was  coming  to  St.  Cuthbert's  this 
year,  I  have  been  brushing  up  a  bit  during  vacation  and 
so  I  found  I  could  satisfy  Mr.  Lovelace." 

"Satisfy  whom  ?"  asked  Frank,  in  feigned  horror. 

"Oh,  bother !    I  mean  Father  Lovelace.    Really,  gentle- 


THE  NEW  PREFECT.  13 

>» 

men,  I  hope  you  won't  be  offended  with  me  when  I  make 
these  mistakes.  I'll  get  used  to  the  proper  titles  in  time." 

The  boys  paid  small  regard  to  his  mistakes,  for  just  at 
that  moment  Rob  Jones,  in  order  to  give  an  outward  and 
adequate  demonstration  of  the  satisfaction  he  felt  in  having 
Ambrose  Bracebridge  as  a  classmate,  and  forgetting  the 
dignity  belonging  to  a  Rhetorician,  actually  indulged  in 
that  most  small-boy  amusement  of  turning  a  hand-spring, 
which  he  did  with  as  much  abandon  and  as  regardless  of 
consequences  as  if  he  were  one  of  the  small  boys  with  no 
tremendous  weight  of  rhetorical  dignity  to  sustain. 

A  ringing  laugh  at  his  expense  followed  his  extravagant 
mode  of  expressing  satisfaction,  and  his  handsome  sun- 
burned face  flushed  deeply  as,  busily  rubbing  the  dust  from 
the  palms  of  his  hands,  he  rejoined  his  companions. 


CHAPTER  II. 

THE  NEW  PREFECT. 

BY  five  o'clock  the  greater  part  of  the  hurry  and  excite- 
ment of  "first  day"  had  subsided.  School  affairs,  so  the 
boys  thought,  were  assuming  normal  conditions  with 
appalling  rapidity.  Often  during  the  few  hours  since  the 
reunion  of  our  young  friends  had  they  discussed  the  possi- 
bilities with  regard  to  the  new  prefect,  an  event  in  college 
life  of  more  importance  than  changes  of  government  or  of 
dynasties. 

All  had  agreed  that,  be  he  who  he  may,  he  could  not  be 
expected  to  be  as  much  liked  or  as  popular  as  was  Mr. 
Hillson.  This  was  a  settled  conviction  among  the  larger 


14  THE  NEW  PREFECT. 

students.  The  boys  believed  that  there  was  only  one  Mr. 
Hillson  in  all  the  wide  world  and  they  had  him  at  St. 
Cuthbert's.  And  now  they  were  to  lose  him!  Oh,  the 
pity  of  it!  Their  regret  was  in  proportion  to  their  love 
for  him,  and  their  love  and  confidence  were  very  thorough, 
for  he  had  the  happy  faculty  of  winning  both. 

Mr.  Hillson  had  been  five  years  at  St.  Cuthbert's,  and 
the  college  had  rarely  seen  a  more  successful  manager  of 
boys.  It  was  almost  entirely  owing  to  him  that  such  a 
splendid  college  spirit  existed  at  the  close  of  last  year.  It 
can  easily  be  understood  how  anxious  our  friends  were 
about  his  successor. 

Many  of  the  higher  classes  were  old  enough  to  remem- 
ber Mr.  Hillson's  first  year  of  prefecting  at  St.  Cuthbert's. 
It  was  within  their  recollection  how  he  had  worked  to 
create  a  real  college  spirit,  not  only  in  religious  matters, 
but  also  in  studies  and  in  sports.  They  remembered  how 
year  by  year  he  had  weeded  out  the  undesirable  elements, 
and  had  brought  the  discipline  to  what  it  now  was,  an 
almost  perfectly  smooth-running  machine — "smooth  as  a 
first-class  wheel"  as  Claude  Winters  had  remarked  in  the 
previous  June. 

There  was  a  good  deal  of  truth  in  Stapleton's  grumb- 
ling remark  that  the  newcomers  in  the  large  yard  appeared 
to  be  anything  but  a  desirable  set.  Howard  Hunter,  too, 
although  he  had  put  the  best  face  on  the  matter,  as  was  his 
wont  in  all  doubtful  cases,  could  not  help  surmising  that 
had  Mr.  Hillson  remained,  even  he  would  have  found 
plenty  of  trouble  this  year. 

Much,  then,  depended  on  the  impression  which  the  new 
prefect  would  make  on  the  boys,  and  very  much  indeed 
on  first  impressions. 


THE  NEW  PREFECT.  15 

Just  as  our  acquaintances  began  for  the  tenth  time 
within  the  hour  to  offer  conjectures  about  the  new  and 
unknown  man  who  was  to  be  so  intimately  connected  with 
them  for  the  next  ten  months,  an  active,  business-like, 
broad-shouldered,  pleasant-faced  person  came  hurrying 
out  of  the  college  building,  and  almost  ran  into  the  group 
that  was  still  standing  around  Bracebridge. 

"How  do  you  do,  boys  ?  How  do,  how  do  ?"  and  he  held 
out  his  hand.  "Glad  to  make  your  acquaintances.  Glad  to 
be  at  St.  Cuthbert's.  Heard  about  it  very  often.  Wanted 
to  come  very  much.  Old  boys?  Yes,  yes,  I  could  know 
that  at  a  glance.  Fine  college,  eh  ?  Fine  yard  ;  fine  boys, 
of  course ;  yes,  yes,  all  fine,  very  fine !" 

Howard  Hunter  and  his  friends  were  at  once  captivated 
by  his  genial  manner  and  his  enthusiasm.  They  saw  a 
round,  smiling  face.  There  was  a  merry  twinkle  in  the 
eyes — eyes,  nevertheless,  which  took  in  everything  at  a 
glance.  Yet  there  was  a  kindly,  warm-hearted  look  in 
them,  too.  The  one  peculiar  feature  of  the  face  was  a 
pair  of  large  and  over-hanging  bushy  eyebrows,  which 
were  partial  curtains  to  eyes  which  at  times  were  very 
scrutinizing,  as  many  a  boy  in  a  school-boy  scrape  after- 
ward learned. 

The  new  prefect  appeared  to  be  a  man  always  in  a  hurry,* 
always  immersed  in  business  of  importance.  He  moved 
rapidly,  and  spoke  with  force  as  one  accustomed  'to  give 
quick  and  important  decisions,  and  to  direct  others.  There 
was  an  air  of  good  humor  and  enthusiasm  about  him  that 
was  contagious.  Hunter  and  the  other  boys  of  the  group 
were  at  once  under  its  influence. 

"Boys,  I  am  going  to  tell  you  a  secret,"  he  continued ; 
"tell  it  not  in  Gath,  publish  it  not  in  the  streets  of  Ascalon ! 


16  THE  NEW  PREFECT. 

Would  you  believe  me  if  I  were  to  say  that  I  am  just  the 
least  bit  blue — homesick !"  and  he  laughed  aloud. 

The  boys  opened  their  eyes  in  real  amazement.  A 
member  of  the  faculty  of  St.  Cuthbert's  homesick !  Im- 
possible !  The  prefect,  of  all  persons  in  the  world,  blue ! 
What  was  the  world  coming  to? 

The  new  man  saw  the  look  of  amazement  on  their  faces 
— on  not  a  few  he  noticed  an  expression  of  incredulity.  He 
burst  out  laughing  again. 

"I  told  you  a  secret,  boys,  and  you  must  keep  it.  The 
fact  is  I  have  left  a  class  of  Rhetoric  boys  in  the  college 
where  I  was  teaching  last  year  whose  equal  I  do  not  think 
can  be  found  from  Maine  to  California.  Oh,  they  were 
splendid  fellows !  Such  students,  and  such  gentlemen,  too ! 
But  I  couldn't  bring  them  with  me,  you  know.  Too  bad, 
too  bad!" 

The  listeners  were  not  quite  certain  that  the  prefect  was 
not  quizzing  them,  yet  they  were  certainly  pleased  with  the 
loyalty  he  displayed  toward  his  former  pupils.  They 
argued  correctly  that  if  he  were  loyal  and  enthusiastic 
about  a  former  set  of  boys,  he  would  be  so  about  them- 
selves too,  in  time,  if  they  were  deserving. 

Bracebridge  did  not  quite  understand  it  all.  His  pre- 
vious education  had  been  managed  on  entirely  different 
lines  from  those  of  St.  Cuthbert's.  He  wisely  kept  quiet 
for  a  time.  He  was  soon  to  learn  the  spirit  of  confidence 
and  of  respectful  familiarity  that  existed  between  pro- 
fessors and  prefects  and  the  boys  of  St.  Cuthbert's. 

The  others  of  the  group  had  already  mentally  voted  the 
new  prefect  a  jolly  good  fellow. 

"I  hope  you  will  find  us,  too,  sir,  fair  specimens  of 
college  boys,"  remarked  Harry  Selby. 


THE  NEW  PREFECT.  17 

"I  am  sure  I  shall.  Quite  sure.  Dear  me,  to  hear  all 
that  Mr.  Hillson  says  about  some  of  you  one  would  sup- 
pose that  already  wings  had  begun  to  sprout !  Ha,  ha ! 
But  then  Mr.  Hillson  is  partial,  yes,  very  partial,  yes,  yes, 
very." 

"But  Mr. "  began  Frank  the  Fearless,  and  then  he 

remembered  that  he  had  not  yet  heard  the  new  prefect's 
name.  He  consequently  stopped  short  in  his  speech,  and, 
boy-like,  blushed  awkwardly. 

"Oh,  I  beg  your  pardon,  all  of  you,"  said  the  prefect. 
"I  should  have  introduced  myself  at  once.  My  name  is 
Shalford— Joseph  White  Shalford." 

The  boys  bowed. 

"But,  Mr.  Shalford,"  urged  Frank  Stapleton,  respect- 
fully but  freely,  for  the  boys  saw  at  once  that  they  could 
talk  without  restraint — "but,  Mr.  Shalford,  if  Mr.  Hillson 
is  partial,  what  about  a  certain  Rhetoric  professor  of  last 
year  in  regard  to — " 

"Oh,  you  rogue!"  exclaimed  Mr.  Shalford.  "So  you 
would  catch  me  in  my  words  at  our  first  meeting!  Yes, 
I  confess  I  am  partial  to  that  class.  They  were  the  finest 
boys  I  ever  knew,;  but  that  does  not  say  there  are  no  other 
good  boys  in  the  world,  or  no  other  good  students,  eh? 
Hello !  look  there.  There's  a  poor  little  homesick  fellow 
actually  crying.  That  won't  do.  I  must  go  and  console 
him.  Good-by,  boys,  we  will  soon  get  better  acquainted." 

"Good-by,  sir,"  came  the  hearty  chorus  and  the  hearti- 
ness of  the  response  convinced  Mr.  Shalford  that  he  had 
already  some  friends  among  the  boys. 

In  a  few  minutes  the  boys,  who  had  watched  closely, 
saw  the  little  fellow,  under  the  prefect's  winning  manner, 
dry  his  tears  and  begin  to  smile.  It  was  not  long  before 


18  THE  NEW  PREFECT. 

they  heard  him  break  out  into  a  hearty  laugh — the  best 
panacea  for  all  schoolboy  ills,  and  a  mortal  enemy  to  home- 
sickness. 

"Well,  fellows,  what's  the  vote?"  asked  Stapleton,  after 
he  had  cast  a  glance  at  the  now  silent  group. 

"I  think- he's  just  splendiferous,"  said  Selby,  enthusias- 
tically. 

"If  I  may  be  allowed  to  express  myself  intelligibly," 
remarked  Rob  Jones,  "I  should  say  Mr.  Shalford  is  a — 

"Brick !"  broke  in  Stapleton.  "Correct,  go  to  the  head 
of  the  class." 

"I  think  we  shall  get  along  splendidly  with  Mr.  Shal- 
ford, eh,  boys?"  asked  Howard  Hunter. 

"Look,  look,  gentlemen,  see  who  is  coming  up  the  road 
from  the  station !"  said  Rob  Jones. 

All  in  the  group  turned  to  look  in  the  direction  pointed 
out.  They  saw  a  short,  solidly  built,  neatly  dressed  boy, 
whose  sturdy  legs  and  square' chest  denoted  an  excellent 
physique. 

"That's  Claude,  for  certain,"  remarked  Frank ;  "there's 
not  a  boy  in  the  yard  who  plants  his  feet  more  firmly 
when  walking  than  he  does." 

"Nor  uses  them  faster  when  running  away,"  put  in 
Selby.  "Oh!  the  dear  old  fellow.  Isn't  it  grand  that  he's 
back?  Now  our  company  is  complete.  'Rah  for  Claude !" 

"There's  something  strange  about  him,"  remarked 
Jones,  who  was  closely  watching  the  approaching  figure. 
"How  is  he  changed?  He's  not  the  same  Claude  that 
left  here  last  June,  and  who  is  that  little  fellow  by  his  side, 
I  wonder?" 

"Wait  till  he  conies  closer,"  said  Hunter.  "I  cannot 
make  out  what  the  change  is  as  yet.  But  there  is  one." 


THE  NEW  PREFECT.  19 

"Great  and  little  fishes !    I  have  it,"  from  Frank. 

"What  is  it?"  asked  several. 

"Pants !" 

And  so  it  was.  Claude  knew  he  was  to  be  in  the  gradu- 
ating class  this  year,  and  the  day  before  he  started  for 
college  he  had  put  on  long  pants  for  the  first  time  in  his 
life.  He  had  worn  short  knee-pants  in  the  Rhetoric  class 
and  all  his  friends  had  declared  that  he  had  no  sense  of  the 
fitness  of  things,  no  regard  for  the  proper  dignity  of  the 
class,  no  respect  for  his  compeers ;  that  he  was  bringing 
things  down  to  the  level  of  the  kindergarten,  etc.,  etc., 
but  through  all  their  bantering  he  remained  firm.  He 
would  not  give  up  his  cool  and  comfortable  black  stock- 
ings and  knee-breeches.  His  will  was  as  sturdy  as  his 
thick,  short  legs.  As  the  readers  who  have  thus  far  fol- 
lowed Claude  Winter's  career  are  aware,  Claude  was  by 
no  means  a  dull  boy.  Certainly  there  was  not  a  lazy  bone 
in  his  body,  and  to  his  activity  there  was  allied  a  corres- 
ponding determination  of  will.  So  he  had  borne  all  last 
year's  chaffing  and  bantering  with  a  firm  resolve  to  go 
home  as  he  had  come,  in  short  pants,  or,  as  he  preferred 
to  call  them,  knee-breeches.  Too  appreciative  of  their 
comfort  in  vacation  time,  he  had  no  thought  of  changing 
while  by  lake  and  wood,  or  climbing  mountain  paths.  But 
the  time  came  for  returning  to  St.  Cuthbert's  and  Claude 
had  to  make  a  decision. 

His  father,  upon  being  consulted  on  this  all-important 
step,  amusedly  left  the  decision  to  the  boy,  with  the 
remark  :  "It  is  time  for  you  to  learn  to  make  decisions  for 
yourself." 

His  mother  had  as  much  reluctance  to  grant  the  per- 
mission as  some  mothers  have  to  purchase  the  first  razor 


20  THE  NEW  PREFECT. 

for  the  eldest  boy.  So  Claude  had  to  decide,  and,  truth  to 
tell,  from  the  time  he  made  the  decision  up  to  the  present 
moment  he  felt  extremely  awkward  in  trousers. 

The  boys  watched  him  approach.  In  a  hurried  con- 
sultation they  decided  upon  the  manner  of  his  reception. 
No  one  was  to  know  him.  All  were  to  require  an  intro- 
duction. 

By  this  time  Claude  was  within  thirty  paces  of  the  group 
of  friends.  He  stopped  a  moment  to  speak  to  his  diminu- 
tive counterpart  by  his  side. 

"Stay  here  just  a  moment,  Ernest,  and  your  brother 
will  bring  his  friends  over  to  you.  You  are  not  afraid, 
Ernie,  are  you  ?'* 

"N-no,"  came  the  doubtful  answer;  "but  this  place  is  so 
big  and  there  are  so  many  people  here.  It  isn't  a  bit  like 
home,  and — mamma!" 

"Of  course  it  isn't  like  home,  Ernie.  It's  college,  you 
know.  This  is  the  great  St.  Cuthbert's  college.  Grand, 
isn't  it? 

"Y-yes,  but—" 

"Well,  you  just  wait  here  one  minute.  I  won't  be  gone 
more  than  a  minute.  Be  brave.  Nobody  will  hurt  you. 
You  won't  mind  ?  You  won't  cry,  will  you  ?" 

"No,"  and  this  time  there  was  something  like  Claude's 
own  firmness  of  will  displayed  in  the  reply. 

"That's  right.  Only  a  minute,"  and  Claude  Winters 
bounded  across  the  yard  to  his  friends  of  last  year,  with 
eyes  sparkling  with  pleasure,  and  his  vacation-browned 
face  one  huge  smile.  With  hands  outstretched  he  began 
speaking  before  he  reached  the  group.  For  the  moment 
he  had  forgotten  all  about  his  uncomfortable  long  pants. 

"Oh,  how  do,  Frank !    Awfully  glad  to  see  all  you  fel- 


THE  NEW  PREFECT.  21 

lows !  How  are  you,  Howard  ?  Ah,  Rob,  glad  to  see  you. 
How  are  you  all?  And  Bracebridge!  How  do  you  do? 
My,  it's  fine  to  get  back  to  St.  Cuthbert's!  Shake,  old 
fellows." 

He  was  greeted  with  a  cold,  expressionless  stare  by 
all. 

Claude  was  astounded.  He  did  not  withdraw  his  hand, 
but  stood  with  it  outstretched,  and  with  wide-open  mouth. 

Presently  Stapleton,  imitating  one  who  uses  an  eyeglass, 
holding  an  imaginary  one  in  its  place,  looked  down  on  the 
stoutly-built  small  boy. 

"Aw !  ah !  a  stranger  here,  friends !  Your  name,  if  you 
please,  sir  ?" 

"Frank !"  exclaimed  Claude  in  surprise. 

"Frank.    Frank  who,  sir?" 

"Oh,  come,  you  fellows,  what's  the  matter  with  you? 
As  if  you  didn't  know  me !" 

"Know  you  ?  How  can  we  know — why  I  do  declare, 
boys,"  said  the  actor,  Stapleton,  "if  it  isn't  Claude — and  in 
long  pants !" 

They  all  rushed  around  him.  With  a  tremendous  dis- 
play of  affection  they  pump-handled  his  arm  until  it  was 
sore. 

Under  all  this  bantering  and  teasing,  it  must  be  under- 
stood, there  was  a  genuine  welcome  to  the  late  comer. 
Suddenly  Stapleton  struck  an  attitude  of  mock  tragedy. 

"Oh,  shade  of  Shakespeare!  look!  look  at  his  face!" 

All  turned  and  stared  at  Claude. 

"What's  the  matter  with  my  face?"  he  asked,  as  he 
quickly  rubbed  both  cheeks,  thinking  that  perhaps  some 
mud  or  dust  of  the  journey  was  disfiguring  them. 

"You  can't  brush  it  off,  Claude.    It's  no  use  trying." 


22  A  MYSTERY  FOR  CLAUDE. 

•  "Brush  off  what  ?  You  fellows  seem  to  be  losing  your 
senses.  What's  up,  now?" 

"I'm  sure  it's  positively  against  college  rules.  Let's  go 
and  see  the  President  about  it,  boys.  We  can't  stand  this." 

Claude  was  more  mystified  than  ever. 

"What  on  earth  are  you  fellows  driving  at?" 

"How  many  on  a  side,  Claude  ?"  asked  one. 

"Why,  nine  on  a  side,  of  course,"  said  some  one  else. 

"Two  nines,  enough  for  a  game  of  ball." 

Then  Claude  blushed  outright.  He  was  now  conscious 
they  were  quizzing  him  on  the  incipient  mustache,  which, 
during  the  vacation,  had  begun  to  make  its  appearance. 

"Oh,  I  say,  you  fellows,  you — but  never  mind.  Wait  a 
minute  until  I  bring  my  little  brother  over  here.  I  want 
you  to  make  him  feel  at  home." 

"Do,  Claude,"  said  Selby.  "You  must  be  a  perfect 
pagan  to  leave  the  little  fellow  standing  all  alone  in  a 
strange  place." 

Claude  Winters  turned  and  looked  toward  the  spot 
where  he  had  left  his  brother  standing.  He  was  gone. 
He  scanned  the  large  boys'  yard.  Not  seeing  him,  he  ran 
in  haste  over  to  the  small  division  yard.  There  was  not 
a  trace  of  Ernest  Winters. 


CHAPTER  III. 

A  MYSTERY  FOR  CLAUDE. 

CLAUDE  WINTERS  went  to  the  spot  where  he  had  left  his 
younger  brother.  Not  finding  him  there  he  surmised  that 
he  had  already  formed  acquaintance  with  some  of  the  boys 


A  MYSTERY  FOR  CLAUDE.  23 

of  the  junior  division.  He  soon  found  that  no  one  there 
had  seen  him. 

"The  youngster  became  tired  of  waiting.  He  must  have 
started  out  to  inspect  the  buildings,  I  suppose,"  thought 
Claude.  Acting  upon  this  idea,  he  began  a  systematic 
search.  Going  first  to  the  President's  room,  and  then  to 
that  of  the  prefect  of  studies,  he  next  went  through  all 
the  class-rooms,  visited  the  gymnasium,  reading-room, 
bath-rooms,  game-rooms,  study-halls,  infirmary,  chapel, 
and  finally  went  to  each  professor's  room.  He  could  find 
no  trace  of  the  missing  boy. 

Winters  now  began  to  be  anxious.  One  of  the  pro- 
fessors suggested  that  Ernest  might  have  wandered 
toward  the  kitchen.  Claude  ran  there.  Barely  taking  time 
to  shake  hands  with  the  serving-boys,  with  whom  he  was 
a  great  favorite,  he  went  from  kitchen  to  sculleries,  pan- 
tries, dairy,  bake-shop.  shoe-shop — everywhere,  but  Ernest 
was  nowhere  to  be  found.  Claude  returned  to  his  friends 
in  the  yard  and  told  them  of  the  sudden  and  mysterious 
disappearance  of  his  younger  brother. 

Immediately  all  was  excitement.  The  most  extravagant 
conjectures  were  indulged  in.  No  one  seemed  to  be  able 
to  offer  any  solution  to  the  problem. 

While  the  boys  were  earnestly  discussing  the  difficulty, 
Mr.  Shalford  approached  unobserved. 

"Well,  boys,  what's  the  matter?  You  all  look  as  scared 
as  if  you  had  seen  a  ghost.  There's  been  no  quarrel,  eh? 
No  disagreement  among  you  boys,  that's  sure.  What's 
wrong?" 

He  was  told  the  cause  of  their  uneasiness.  Mr.  Shal- 
ford liked  Claude's  appearance  and  open,  frank  counten- 
ance. 


24  A  MYSTERY  FOR  CLAUDE. 

"If  your  brother  is  like  you,"  he  said  kindly  to  the 
anxious  boy,  "you  may  be  sure  he  is  not  in  mischief, 
wherever  he  may  be." 

Claude  loved  Mr.  Shalford  from  that  day. 

"Ah !"  continued  the  prefect,  "I  have  it!  You  walked 
from  the  railway  depot — you  two — did  you  not  ?  Yes ; 
well,  he  saw  that  candy  store  half  way  between  here  and 
the  station,  and,  as  I  suppose  he  has  some  money  in  his 
pocket  yet,  that  must  have  been  the  attraction.  Run,  Win- 
ters, and  see  if  he  is  not  there  making  himself  sick  with 
pies  and  tarts." 

Just  as  the  big  college  bell  rang  for  supper  Claude  ran 
in  hot  haste  up  the  road  to  the  candy  store.  He  burst  into 
the  little  shop : 

"Have  you  got  my  brother  here,  Mrs.  Lane  ?" 

"Why,  no,  Master  Claude.  I  ain't  seen  no  brother  of 
yours  whatever.  Never  knew  you  had  one.  Do  you  want 
some  of  my  taffy  to-day?" 

"Oh,  hang  your  candy.  I  have  lost  my  brother !  You 
are  hiding  him  behind  the  counter  there." 

"Lawks  sakes,  Master  Claude,  what  you  do  be  sayin'! 
There  ain't  no  brother  of  yours  ever  come  here  this  day. 
Come  behind  the  counter  and  see  for  yourself." 

"Excuse  me,  ma'am,"  said  the  boy  immediately,  like  the 
true  little  gentleman  he  was ;  "I  forgot  myself.  I  cannot 
think  where  he  has  gone.  I  do  hope  no  harm's  come  to 
him.  If  you  see  a  little  boy  that  looks  like  me — 

"How  is  he  dressed?"  interrupted  the  woman. 

"He  has  on  a  black  velvet  Sunday  coat,  with  silver  but- 
tons, and  a  broad  linen  collar,  with  black  stockings  and  low 
shoes.  He's  got  long  black  curly  hair,  and  a  'shanter'  hat. 
And  oh !  if  you  catch  sight  of  him,  let  us  know,  won't  you  ? 


A  MYSTERY  FOR  CLAUDE.  25 

If  you  find  him,  perhaps  it's  best  to  keep  him  here  and 
send  some  one  to  the  college." 

"That  I  will,  sure,  if  ever  I  sets  my  eyes  on  him.  Here, 
Master  Winters,  take  some  of  these,"  and  the  sympathetic 
woman  thrust  into  his  hand  some  of  the  newly  made 
"taffy." 

In  spite  of  his  troubles  Claude  was  too  much  of  a  boy 
to  refuse  the  candies.  Hastily  thanking  the  donor  he  at 
once  ran  home  again  at  full  speed. 

By  this  time  there  was  considerable  excitement  in  the 
yard.  The  word  was  passed  hurriedly  from  mouth  to 
mouth  that  Claude  Winters'  little  brother  was  lost.  What 
made  his  rediscovery  more  difficult  from  the  boys'  point 
of  view,  was  that  no  one  knew  the  lost  boy,  as  yet  no 
one  had  seen  him,  and  there  were  many  new  faces  on  the 
junior  division  on  the  first  day  of  term. 

A  search  party  was  suggested  by  Roy  Henning.  With 
the  permission  of  Mr.  Shalford  three  or  four  small  groups 
.were  organized  to  go  in  different  directions.  Mr.  Hillson, 
who  knew  the  country  better  than  the  new  prefect,  gave 
directions  to  each  group.  Claude  did  not  leave  the 
grounds.  Again  and  again  he  ran  through  the  various 
rooms  and  halls  of  the  college,  as  well  as  through  all  the 
out-buildings  and  offices  and  even  the  barns  and  stables  of 
the  farm.  The  four  search  parties  were  to  return  by  nine 
o'clock.  If  by  that  time  there  were  no  traces  of  the  miss- 
ing boy,  then  some  of  the  workmen  and  farm  hands  were 
to  continue  the  search  farther  afield  on  horseback.  Tele- 
grams were  sent  up  and  down  the  line,  as  it  was  possible 
that  Ernest  Winters  had  been  enticed  to  take  a  ride  on  a 
hand-car  by  some  repair  men  who  were  known  to  be  work- 
ing in  the  neighborhood. 


26  A  MJSTERT  FOR  CLAUDE. 

About  nine  o'clock  all  the  unsuccessful  searchers  re- 
turned. The  workmen  were  at  once  dispatched,  with 
special  instructions  to  look  out  for  tramps  and  vagrants. 

About  ten  o'clock  that  night  the  President  turned  the 
light  low  in  his  room,  and  walked  to  the  door  of  the  pre- 
fect of  studies,  to  have  a  further  consultation  on  the  very 
mysterious  affair.  Father  Lovelace  suggested  that 
Claude's  father  be  telegraphed  to,  but  to  this  the  President 
objected,  saying  that  there  would  be  time  enough  for  that 
in  the  morning  should  the  boy  not  be  found  by  that  time. 
By  wiring  at  once  it  would  be  uselessly  alarming  the 
family  without  putting  them  in  a  position  to  render  the 
slightest  assistance.  If  some  accident  had  happened  to 
Ernest  Winters,  bad  news  would  travel  fast  enough. 

While  the  two  priests  were  talking  together,  they  heard 
the  clatter  of  horses'  hoofs  along  the  hard  gravel  road. 
Some  of  the  workmen  were  returning.  The  two  went  to 
the  door. 

"Any  tidings  ?" 

"Not  the  slightest  trace,  Father,"  was  the  reply. 

The  two  men  were  completely  mystified.  That  a  boy, 
in  broad  daylight,  from  amid  a  crowd  of  over  two  hun- 
dred and  fifty,  should  be  wafted  away  as  completely  as  if 
the  earth  had  opened  and  swallowed  him  up — such  a  thing 
had  never  come  within  the  experience  of  either. 

They  talked  in  a  low  tone,  so  as  not  to  disturb  other 
members  of  the  faculty  living  on  the  same  corridor,  who 
had  long  ago  retired  to  rest.  Suddenly  in  the  stillness  of 
a  hot,  close,  September  night,  the  two  priests  heard  a 
strange  voice : 

"That's  mine ;  gimme  my  hat !  Oh,  what  a  big  crowd  of 
boys !  Now  I  lay  me  down  to — "  The  sentence  ended  in 


A  MYSTERY  FOR  CLAUDE.  27 

some  indistinct  mumbling.  In  a  second  later  the  words 
"pray  for  us  sinners,"  were  heard,  then  more  indistinct 
mutterings,  which  soon  sank  into  the  silence  of  sleep. 
Some  one  had  been  disturbed  by  the  clatter  of  the  horses' 
hoofs  as  they  had  approached  the  college. 

The  President  and  his  subordinate  stared  at  each  other 
in  mute  surprise. 

"Where  on  earth  did  that  sound  come  from?"  enquired 
the  former. 

"From  the  Bishop's  room,"  answered  Father  Lovelace. 
"Wait  till  I  get  a  light." 

The  Bishop's  room  was  situated  between  the  rooms  of 
the  President  and  the  prefect  of  studies.  It  was,  of  course, 
the  best  furnished  room  in  the  college,  being  reserved  for 
the  bishop  of  the  diocese,  or  any  other  particularly  honored 
guest. 

The  door  stood  ajar.  With  the  light  held  above  their 
heads,  the  two  cautiously  entered  the  room.  What  was 
their  surprise  when  they  saw  a  boy  fully  dressed,  with 
his  beads  around  his  neck  and  resting  on  his  now  sadly 
crumpled  broad  collar,  fast  asleep  on  the  large  bed. 

The  sleeper  was  Ernest  Winters. 

The  two  men  gently  removed  the  boy's  shoes.  They 
then  put  him  into  bed  without  awakening  him. 

Father  Lovelace  then  went  to  find  Claude,  to  tell  him  of 
the  discovery,  and  thus  put  the  now  almost  frantic  boy's 
mind  at  rest.  All  the  boys  had  gone  to  bed  except  Howard 
Hunter,  who  had  been  permitted,  as  the  one  best  fitted  to 
soothe  his  anxiety,  to  keep  Claude  company.  Father 
Lovelace  found  both  kneeling  at  the  altar-steps  and  recit- 
ing their  beads.  Like  the  true  Catholic  boys  they  were, 
they  had  sought  strength  and  relief  at  the  tabernacle  door. 


28  A  MYSTERY  FOR  CLAUDE. 

As  may  well  be  supposed,  Ernest  was  the  hero  of  the 
hour  the  next  morning.  He  had  to  tell  the  story  of  his 
sudden  disappearance  over  and  over  again.  We  give  the 
story  as  he  told  it  to  his  brother  the  next  morning. 

"Why,  Ernie,  where  have  you  been?"  asked  Claude,  as 
the  boy  jumped  out  of  the  Bishop's  bed  ready  dressed. 

"I  don't  know,  Claude.  I  can't  remember  much.  But 
he  had  such  big  black  eyes,  I  had  to  follow  him." 

"Who  had  big  black  eyes?" 

"The  tall,  dark-looking  man.  He  looked  just  like  the 
picture  of  the  Hindu  pa  has  at  home  in  the  dining  room." 

"What  are  you  talking  about?  That  picture  has  a  big 
white  turban  that  comes  down  over  the  ears.  There  isn't 
anybody  who  dresses  like  that  in  this  country.  I  guess 
you  have  been  dreaming." 

"No,  indeed,  I  wasn't  dreaming.  When  you  left  me 
standing  alone  when  you  went  to  speak  to  those  big  boys, 
I  felt  like  crying  because  I  felt  lonesome  and  I  didn't  know 
anybody.  You  were  gone  ever  so  long.  I  got  tired  and 
began  to  look  around."  "* 

"Why,  Ernie,  I  wasn't  away  from  you  two  minutes," 
said  Claude ;  but  the  fact  was  that  he  was  away  for  more 
than  ten,  although  the  time  did  not  appear  so  long  to  him. 

"Well?" 

"Then,  when  I  looked  around,  I  saw  this  tall,  dark 
man  with  big  eyes  just  around  the  corner  of  that  smaller 
house  there" — Land  Ernest  went  to  the  window  and  pointed 
to  the  infirmary,  which  was  separated  from  the  main 
building  of  the  college — "and  I  was  afraid,  but  his  eyes 
drew  me  on  and  I  could  not  help  going  toward  him. 
'What  is  your  name?'  he  asked  in  such  a  funny,  solemn 
way.  I  told  him  Ernest  Winters.  Then  he  said  'Ah !'  " 


A  MYSTERY  FOR  CLAUDE.  29 

"How  was  he  dressed?"  asked  Claude. 

"Just  like  pa  dresses  when  he  leaves  home  and  goes  to 
New  York  once  a  year." 

"What  happened  then,  Ernie?"  inquired  Claude. 

"He  beckoned  me  on,  and  I  felt  as  if  I  were  in  a  dream. 
At  the  gate  down  there,  see," — and  he  pointed  out  of  the 
window — "there  was  a  carriage.  Without  saying  a  word 
we  got  in,  and  the  carriage  drove  off.  All  the  time  he  kept 
his  big  eyes  on  me  and  I  didn't  dare  move.  Soon  we  came 
to  a  big  house — I  think  it  was  a  hotel — and  without  saying 
a  word,  we  left  the  carriage  and  went  in  and  up  stairs  into 
a  beautiful  room  with  large  looking-glasses  all  around  the 
walls.  I  stood  in  the  middle  of  the  carpet  without  know- 
ing why  I  was  there  or  what  he  wanted  of  me.  All  the 
time  I  hadn't  spoken  a  word. 

"Then  he  left  me  and  went  through  a  door  covered  all 
over  with  looking-glass  and  I  was  alone.  Then  I  began  to 
be  frightened  and  wanted  to  cry — but  I  didn't.  In  about 
a  minute,  the  same  man  came  back.  All  the  time  he  was 
there  I  could  only  look  at  his  eyes  and  when  I  did  that  it 
seemed  as  if  I  couldn't  do  anything  else." 

"What  did  you  do  next?"  asked  Claude  with  breathless 
interest. 

"He  clapped  his  hands,  suddenly,  without  speaking  a 
word  and  another  door  opened — one  of  those  looking-glass 
doors — and  another  person,  dressed  just  the  same  as  he 
was,  came  in  with  a  tray  on  which  were  fruits  and  a 
bottle  of  water.  When  the  servant  had  put  down  the  tray 
he  made  a  low  bow,  like  those  we  read  of  in  the  Arabian 
Nights,  and  then  stood  with  his  arms  folded  across  his 
breast.  I  guess  the  fellow  with  the  big  eyes  was  the  boss, 
and  the  other  the  servant," 


30  A  MTSTER7  FOR  CLAUDE. 

"All  this  time  neither  of  them  spoke!"  said  Claude. 
"Look  here,  Ernie,  I  guess  you  have  been  dreaming  and 
are  now  telling  me  a  fairy  story  out  of  your  Arabian 
Nights.  You  know  you  were  reading  it  only  this  week." 

"No,  cross  my  heart,  Claudie.  Then  the  funniest  thing 
happened.  First  place,  he, — the  big-eyed  fellow, — took 
his  eyes  off  me,  and  then  I  didn't  mind.  Then  the  two 
began  to  say  something  I  couldn't  make  out,  but  it  sounded 
awful  funny,  just  like  the  conjurer  fellows  use  when  they 
do  their  tricks.  They  mixed  a  few  English  words  with 
their  funny  talk,  and  I  seemed  to  make  out  that  Big  Eyes 
was  asking  the  other  something  about  me.  The  servant 
appeared  to  deny  what  the  other  fellow  was  saying.  I  am 
sure  I  caught  the  words  'not  old  enough/  'too  small,' 
'should  be  twenty.'  " 

"Good  gracious!"  exclaimed  Claude,  with  a  laugh, 
"perhaps  those  fellows  are  after  me.  You  know,  Ernest, 
I  shall  be  twenty  next  Christmas.  But  what  followed?" 

"Somehow  they  didn't  seem  to  agree.  Then,  with  many 
bowings  and  scrapings,  the  smaller  man  went  out  of  the 
room  backward." 

"What  followed  then,  Ernest?" 

"Big  Eyes  walked  up  and  down  the  room  several  times. 
Then  he  went  to  the  table  and  poured  out  some  of  the 
water  from  the  bottle  and  put  a  white  powder  in  the  glass. 
It  fizzled  up.  Then  he  stroked  my  head  quite  kindly  and 
offered  me  the  glass." 

"Did  you  drink  it?" 

"Yes." 

'What  did  it  taste  like?" 

"Something  like  that  sherbet  papa  once  gave  us  at 
home." 


CLARENCE  GILKINS.  31 

"What  then?" 

"That's  all." 

"That's  all  ?  What  do  you  mean,  Ernie  ?  How  did  you 
get  back  here,  and  into  the  Bishop's  room  of  all  places  in 
the  college?" 

"Oh,  Claudie,  I  don't  remember  anything  more  till  I 
woke  up  this  morning.  Isn't  this  the  room  I  am  going 
to  have?  It  isn't  half  as  nice  as  our  room  at  home  any 
way." 

Claude  laughed  aloud.  He  assured  his  brother  most 
emphatically  that  it  was  not  the  room  he  would  occupy. 
He  promised  that  after  breakfast  he  would  show  him  his 
bed  in  the  dormitory. 

It  is  needless  to  say  that  Claude  Winters  wrote  a  full 
account  of  this  strange  occurrence  to  his  father,  but  while 
he  is  waiting  a  reply  from  his  father — a  letter  which  is  to 
contain  very  important  information  for  our  young  friend 
— we  will  make  the  acquaintance  of  several  of  the  new 
boys  of  the  large  yard,  as  several  of  these  bright  and 
delightful  youngsters  will  have  to  enter  into  the  history  of 
this  year  at  St.  Cuthbert's. 


CHAPTER  IV. 

CLARENCE  GILKINS. 

MR.  JOSEPH  WHITE  SHALFORD,  prefect  of  the  large  di- 
vision, stood  talking  to  his  assistant  on  the  morning  after 
the  occurrences  we  have  related  in  the  last  chapter.  There 
was  a  satisfied  look  on  his  face.  Claude  Winters  was 
telling  the  two  officials  the  curious  story  he  had  heard 


32  CLARENCE  GILKINS. 

before  breakfast  from  his  brother.  When  the  boy  had  fin- 
ished, he  said: 

"Don't  you  think  it  all  very  strange,  sir?  If  Ernie  had 
not  told  me  all  this  himself  I  wouldn't  have  believed  it, 
but  he  never  tells  a  lie." 

"That's  good.  Yes,  it's  strange  indeed.  Where  is  he 
now  ?" 

"Over  in  his  own  yard,  sir.  May  I  go,  please,  and  show 
him  his  bed  in  his  dormitory?" 

"Yes,  if  the  small  division  prefect  will  permit  you.  As 
you  go,  Winters,  send  that  tall  fellow,  who  is  leaning 
against  the  corner  of  the  candy-store,  to  me.  Do  you  see 
the  boy  I  mean  ?" 

"Yes,  sir.  I'll  send  him  to  you,"  and  Claude  ran  at  full 
speed  across  the  yard  and  almost  into  the  boy  for  whom 
he  had  the  message. 

"Say,  Cornstalks,  the  prefect  wants  you.  Better  hurry 
up,  he's  waiting  for  you,"  was  his  greeting  to  the  new 
boy. 

"The  what  ?"  asked  the  boy. 

"The  prefect,  the  manager  of  this  menagerie,  the  boss. 
See,  there  he  stands  waiting  for  you.  Better  hurry." 

"Don't  know  as  I  will.  If  he  wants  me  he  had  better 
come  for  me." 

"My  goodness !  does  it  hurt  ?"  asked  Claude,  apparently 
with  great  solicitude. 

"Does  what  hurt?" 

"Why,  that  bad  temper." 

"I'll  show  you  whether  it  hurts/'  and  he  made  a  vicious 
kick  at  Claude's  shins,  but  as  he  had  his  hands  buried 
deeply  in  his  pockets  he  was  not  quick  enough  for  the 
smaller  boy,  who  jumped  away  and  began  chaffing  him 


CLARENCE  GILKINS.  33 

most  unmercifully,  relying  on  the  swiftness  of  his  legs  in 
case  of  any  attack. 

The  big  boy  sauntered  over  to  where  the  prefect  was 
waiting  for  him,  his  hands  still  in  his  pockets  and  his  hat 
well  down  over  his  eyes. 

"What  is  your  name,  my  boy?"  asked  Mr.  Shalford  in  a 
kindly  way,  as  the  boy  shambled  up  to  him. 

"Gilkins." 

"Gilkins  what?"  asked  the  prefect,  as  he  gave  the  boy 
a  piercing  glance  from  under  his  bushy  eyebrows — a 
glance  which  the  boy  perfectly  understood,  although  he 
gave  no  indications  that  he  did. 

"Gilkins  nothing,"  answered  the  boy  impudently. 

"Oh,  yes  it  is,  you  know,"  and  there  was  a  look  in  the 
prefect's  face  which  was  a  revelation  to  the  boy,  who  saw 
at  once  the  man  before  him  was  master  and  would  stand 
no  trifling. 

"Gilkins  what?"  came  more  sternly. 

"Gilkins, — sir." 

"Ah !    And  what  is  your  Christian  name  ?" 

"Clarence, — sir." 

"Ah !  What  a  nice  name.  What  a  pity  to  have  so  nice 
a  name  and  so  ugly  a  temper — one  of  the  finest  names  in 
all  history.  Now,  Clarence  Gilkins,  go  to  the  wash-room 
and  put  on  a  necktie." 

"I  don't  want  no — "  began  the  boy. 

"Go !"  and  the  prefect  pointed  sternly  toward  the  door. 
There  was  a  force  in  the  gesture  and  a  determination  in 
the  tone  which  were  again  revelations  to  Gilkins  and  to  the 
boys  standing  around.  Whatever  might  happen  the  boys 
saw  that  Mr.  Shalford  was  not  to  be  trifled  with.  The 
boy  went. 


34  CLARENCE  GILKINS. 

In  about  ten  minutes  he  returned  wearing  a  flaring  red 
tie.  He  had  evidently  put  it  on  to  vex  the  prefect.  In 
this  he  failed.  As  soon  as  Mr.  Shalford  saw  Gilkins 
emerge  from  the  wash-room,  he  went  over  to  him,  and 
shook  hands. 

"Ah,  that's  something  like,  my  boy.  Always  try  to 
dress  neatly.  See,  all  our  boys  pride  themselves  on  their 
natty  appearance  and — taste." 

The  shot,  however,  was  lost  on  Gilkins. 

"Did  you  enjoy  it  ?"  suddenly  asked  the  prefect. 

"Enjoy  what?    I  mean,  what,  sir." 

"Oh,  come,  my  boy,  let's  be  friends.  You  are  not  such 
a  bad  fellow  if  you  only  knew  it.  Did  you  enjoy  your 
extra  smoke?  There  now — don't  blush.  Besides,  I  can 
smell  the  smoke  on  you  now.  It  didn't  take  twelve 
minutes  to  tie  that  tie,  that's  sure.  I  think  if  I  were  a  boy 
and  had  the  same  chance  as  you  had  for  an  extra  smoke, 
I'd  take  it,  too.  Wouldn't  you,  boys?"  he  said,  suddenly 
turning  to  the  bystanders. 

Many  laughingly  responded  in  the  affirmative. 

"I  don't  doubt  but  what  you  would,"  responded  the 
prefect,  dryly. 

Gilkins  began  to  think  that  Mr.  Shalford  was  "not  so 
bad"  after  all,  and  that  perhaps  it  would  be  just  as  well  to 
keep  on  his  good  side.  Like  many  another  improperly 
trained  boy,  he  had  allowed  himself,  unfortunately,  to 
believe  that  every  one  in  a  position  of  authority  was  his 
natural  enemy.  He  had  taken  it  for  granted  that  Mr. 
Shalford  was  so,  and  was  now  more  or  less  surprised  to 
learn  that  he  could  enter  exactly  into  a  boy's  own  manner 
of  thinking  about  things. 

By  a  movement,   which  the  boys  who  had  gathered 


CLARENCE  GILKINS.  35 

around  the  two  quickly  understood,  Mr.  Shalford 
intimated  that  he  wished  to  talk  to  Gilkins  privately. 
When  the  rest  had  dispersed  Mr.  Shalford  said  kindly : 

"I  hope  you  will  be  happy  and  contented  here,  Clar- 
ence." 

"Guess  I  won't  though,  if  everybody  is  going  to  be 
down  on  me,  like  they  were  at  my  last  school,"  said  the 
boy. 

"But,  my  dear  lad,  there  is  no  one  here  who  has  the 
slightest  intention  of  doing  any  such  thing.  I  suppose 
people  were  'down  on  you'  as  you  express  it,  because  you 
didn't  behave  well  and  broke  the  rules  and  did  all  sorts  of 
things." 

"Who  told  you  all  that?" 

"No  one.  I  do  not  know  where  you  were  last  year, 
and  I  do  not  care  to  know.  I  only  judge  from  my  knowl- 
edge of  boys,  and  from  the  way  you  express  yourself." 

"Well,  sir,  I  expect  you  will  soon  be  the  same  as  all  the 
others  were  toward  me." 

There  was  a  strange  pathos  in  the  tone.  It  indicated 
many  things — previous  misunderstanding  of  his  nature, 
blunders  which  had  made  his  education  almost  a  tragedy, 
and  a  longing,  a  desire  for  better  things  and  a  fresh 
chance.  Mr.  Shalford  saw  all  this.  He  replied : 
.  "I  see  no  reason  why  I  should.  It  rests  entirely  with 
yourself.  Make  me  your  friend  and  make  a  reasonable 
effort  to  keep  straight,  and  you  will  be  as  happy  as  a  king. 
By  the  way,  do  you  play  ball  ?  Are  you  any  good  at  foot- 
ball ? — you  know  the  practice  season  opens  in  a  few  days." 

"I  was  center  rush  on  our  team  last  year." 

"Capital !  You  are  big  and  strong  enough  to  make  a 
good  one.  In  training  at  all  now?' 


36  CLARENCE  CILKINS. 

Gilkins  put  his  fingers  to  his  head  and  flicked  his  arm 
muscles. 

"Good!  Muscles  as  hard  as  iron!  First  rate.  Why. 
man,  if  you  watch  yourself,  you  will  be  an  acquisition  to 
St.  Cuthbert's  yet." 

The  boy  felt  pleased  at  the  interest  taken  in  him.  He 
began  to  talk  freely  about  matches,  and  gridirons,  and  all 
the  technicalities  of  football.  Matters  began  to  look  dif- 
ferent to  him.  Instead  of  being  exiled  from  home  as  a 
covert  punishment  for  unmanageableness,  Gilkins  began  to 
see  that  it  was  quite  possible  that  the  year  might  prove  a 
most  enjoyable  one  to  him  after  all.  He  felt  as  if  he  were 
going  to  get  a  "fair  show"  as  he  called  it.  Under  such 
pleasant  conditions  his  better  nature  came  uppermost,  and 
he  surprised  himself  by  the  following  remark: 

"I'll  tell  you  what  it  is,  Mr.  Shalford :  You  are  just 
the  first  man  that  ever  spoke  to  me  like  that,  and  I'm  going 
to  try  to  get  along." 

"That's  a  good  resolution.  Try  hard  to  keep  it.  By  the 
way,  Clarence,  when  did  you  go  to  Communion  last?" 

"I  made  my  Easter,  and — and — " 

"I  see,  my  boy,  I  see  it  all.  For  six  months  you  have 
foolishly  been  neglecting  the  very  means  to  enable  you 
to  do  right  and  be  happy  and  contented.  Well,  we'll 
change  all  that,  won't  we?  And  remember,  my  dear  boy, 
I  expect  great  things  from  you." 

The  conference  ended  by  the  prefect  tactfully  securing 
a  promise  from  Gilkins  that  some  time  during  the  day  he 
would  make  a  visit  to  the  venerable  chaplain  or  spiritual 
director  of  the  boys.  The  prefect  knew  very  well  that  if 
this  zealous  old  Father  once  got  a  boy  under  his  influence 
everything  would  soon  be  all  right  with  him. 


CLARENCE  GILKINS.  37 

Clarence  Gilkins  was  of  an  unamiable  disposition.  He 
had  the  unhappy  faculty  of  showing  his  very  worst  side 
to  others.  A  heartless  system  of  harshness  at  home  had 
stunted  all  the  boy's  aspirations  and  destroyed  his  ideals. 
Nor  were  matters  at  all  mended  during  the  two  years  he 
had  spent  at  school  previous  to  his  coming,  this  year,  to 
St.  Cuthbert's.  Already  marks  of  hardness  and  of  cyni- 
cism were  beginning  to  show  in  rather  strong  lines  around 
the  mouth  and  habitually  tightened  lips.  At  a  casual 
glance,  a  stranger  would  call  him  a  "tough"  boy.  He  was 
so  in  a  certain  way,  but  it  was  mostly  on  the  exterior. 
The  heart  was  in  the  right  place. 

He  was  big,  awkward,  loose-jointed.  His  clothes  did 
not  fit  him  well.  He  had  not  as  yet  acquired  those  habits 
of  neatness  in  dress  which  make  so  much  for  self-respect. 
Unquestionably  he  had  many  faults,  and  we  shall  have  to 
chronicle  many  of  his  failings.  Behind  all  this  array  of 
undesirable  qualities  there  were  latent  many  good  ones, 
and  it  required  just  such  experience  as  his  prefect 
possessed  to  bring  them  to  the  surface. 

About  an  hour  later  Gilkins  once  more  approached  Mr. 
Shalford.  This  time  the  prefect  noticed  that  his  hands 
were  not  in  his  pockets,  and  he  also  observed  that  the  boy 
touched  his  cap,  as  was  the  general  custom,  when  he  spoke 
to  the  prefect. 

"Would  you  mind  lending  me  the  key  again,  sir?" 
Without  inquiring  why  he  wanted  it,  the  prefect  immedi- 
ately handed  it  to  him.  The  boy  at  once  realized  he  was 
trusted.  He  was  pleased.  In  two  minutes  he  returned. 
The  flaring  red  tie  had  been  removed,  and  one  much 
neater  and  of  a  more  sober  color  had  been  substituted. 
The  reader  may  regard  this  as  a  small  matter  and  scarcely 


38  CLARENCE  GILKINS. 

worth  recording,  but  Mr.  Shalford  saw  its  full  signifi- 
cance. 

"I'm  not  much  of  a  critic  in  high  art  colors,  but  un- 
questionably necktie  number  two  is  an  improvement,"  he 
said  laughingly,  as  he  again  pocketed  the  key. 

The  boy  walked  away  with  a  satisfied  smile  on  his  face. 

"He'll  do,  if  others  do  not  influence  him  too  much," 
said  the  prefect  to  himself.  Gilkins  walked  slowly  back 
to  his  companions.  He  was  thinking  deeply.  He  had 
taken  a  liking  to  the  prefect.  He  was  determined  to  keep 
the  promise  he  had  made  to  see  the  chaplain.  But  this  he 
knew  meant  confession,  ultimately,  and  confession  meant 
the  breaking  away  from  a  class  of  boys  whom  he  had 
become  acquainted  with  only  yesterday,  but  who,  he  had 
already  learned,  would  for  the  present,  neither  go  to  con- 
fession, nor  be  much  influenced  by  him  if  he  were  to  try  to 
set  them  an  example  of  keeping  straight. 

In  his  heart  of  hearts  he  felt  that  he  was  not  an  alto- 
gether bad  boy.  In  a  dim  sort  of  way  he  realized  that  cir- 
cumstances had  been  against  him :  that  his  chance  com- 
panions had  often  been  undesirable  ones :  that  the  mistaken 
home  training  of  harshness  and  repression  with  all  its 
unpleasant  consequences  had  been  a  misfortune  for  him. 
He  could  not  have  stated  these  feelings  so  clearly  as  they 
are  set  down  here,  but  in  some  confused  manner  he  felt 
them. 

The  kindly  manner  of  the  prefect ;  his  evident  intention 
to  trust  him,  and,  if  he  himself  did  not  prevent  it,  to  make 
him  happy  and  contented  for  the  school  year,  touched  him 
deeply.  It  aroused  within  him  a  desire  to  recover  his  self- 
respect;  to  make  a  vigorous  effort  to  rise  out  of  the 
slovenly,  ungentlemanly  habits  into  which  he  had  drifted. 


CLARENCE  GILKINS.  39 

"By  Jove !"  he  said,  half  aloud,  and  then  checking  him- 
self— "humph !  my  patron  saint  at  all  events  for  some 
time  past !  Guess  Fll  drop  that  way  of  talking  any  way. 
It  seems  to  me  that  with  a  man  like  that  Shalford  to  look 
after  a  fellow  there  is  no  reason  for  me  to  go  to  the  dogs. 
Guess  I  won't,  either." 

Now  these  resolutions,  good  in  themselves,  were  natu- 
ral, and  were  valuable  in  so  far  as  his  natural  determina- 
tion bore  him  up.  By  many  a  breakdown,  by  many  a  lapse 
and  fall,  he  was  to  learn  they  were  not  sufficient  of  them- 
selves. It  took  Gilkins  a  long  time  to  look  to  other  and 
more  real  source  of  strength  than  his  own  will  alone,  and 
it  caused  him  many  a  bitter  day,  many  a  hard,  hard  strug- 
gle before  he  arrived  at  the  knowledge  that  it  was  not  safe 
to  trust  himself  or  to  rely  solely  on  his  own  natural  powers, 
in  order,  as  he  expressed  it,  "not  to  go  to  the  dogs." 

However,  under  the  influence  of  his  present  good  reso- 
lutions he  did  the  correct  thing.  Instead  of  returning  to 
the  crowd  of  discontented  and  more  or  less  maliciously 
inclined  boys  with  whom  he  had  so  far  associated,  he 
walked  over  to  where  Roy  Henning,  Selby,  and  Staple- 
ton  were  talking  over  the  prospects  of  the  coming  football 
season. 

Just  as  he  arrived  from  one  direction  Claude  Winters 
came  from  another.  They  met  face  to  face.  Claude  was  a 
little  frightened  and  feared  for  the  consequences  of  their 
first  meeting.  He  was  just  a  little  ashamed  at  his  own 
rather  rude  way  of  addressing  a  stranger,  but  he  put  on 
a  bold  face  on  the  matter. 

"Say,  Gilkins,  what  did  the  prefect  say  to  you?" 

"Look  here,  young  fellow,  I  don't  want  you  to  call  me 
'cornstalks'  or  any  other  name  any  more,  d'ye  hear?" 


40  CLARENCE  (HLKINS. 

"I  hear ;  but  what  did  Mr.  Shalford  say,  anyway  ?" 

"No  matter.  He's  a  fine  man,  and  I'm  going  to  get 
along  with  him." 

"Shake,  old  fellow.  That's  the  talk,"  said  Claude;  "but 
what  a  pity  you  can't  play  on  the  gridiron  this  fall.  You 
are  big  enough  and  strong  enough  to  break  through  any 
line." 

And  Winters,  after  the  fashion  of  the  young  Roman 
who  bet  his  sesterces  on  the  gladiator,  began  to  pat  Gilkins' 
muscular  arm. 

The  new  boy  did  not  know  what  to  make  of  Claude. 
He  was  half-inclined  to  think  he  was  being  patronized. 
He  felt  his  pulse  quickening  with  anger.  Stapleton  took 
in  the  situation  at  once. 

"Shut  up,  Winters — let  him  alone,  can't  you?  You 
mustn't  mind  him,  Gilkins.  Here,  you  know,"  and  Frank 
touched  his  forehead  with  his  forefinger  as  if  to  indicate 
that  Claude  was  not  quite  sound  in  the  head. 

Winters  clenched  his  fists,  making  pantomime  motions 
at  Frank  as  if  he  would  presently  annihilate  him. 

"All  right,  Claude.  I  understand.  Pistols  and  coffee 
for  two  to-morrow  morning  before  breakfast,"  he  said 
laughingly.  "All  the  same,  if  you'll  excuse  us,  Gilkins 
and  I  want  to  talk  of  football  matters,"  and  Stapleton 
walked  off  with  his  newly  found  acquaintance. 


A  WONDER  WORKER  41 


CHAPTER  V. 

A  WONDER  WORKER. 

ABOUT  a  year  before  Ernest  Winters'  strange  disap- 
pearance at  St.  Cuthbert's  college,  a  number  of  people  had 
gathered  on  a  hillside,  close  to  the  ruins  of  a  temple  of 
Brahma,  not  many  miles  from  Simla,  in  northern  India. 
Professional  Hindu  beggars,  squalid  and  in  tatters,  and 
carrying  empty  rice  bowls,  were  there.  They  wore  the 
yellow  robes  which  distinguished  them  as  holy  mendi- 
cants. Tall,  lithe,  dark-skinned  and  straight-featured  men 
were  also  there,  with  yards  upon  yards  of  fine  Indian 
muslin  rolled  turban-fashion  around  their  heads,  leaving 
only  the  lobe  of  the  ears  visible.  Many  wore  white,  flow- 
ing robes  reaching  to  their  feet.  The  white  garments 
lent,  by  contrast,  a  brilliancy  to  the  rich  Oriental  coloring 
of  the  various  costumes  which  gave  a  variety  and  pict- 
uresqueness  to  the  scene. 

There  were  not  many  Europeans  present.  Here  and 
there  could  be  seen  the  redcoat  of  the  British  soldier, 
whose  round,  red  face  would  indicate  his  nationality, 
even  without  the  assistance  of  his  conspicuous  uniform. 
On  a  few  tanned  and  sun-darkened  faces  could  be  dis- 
tinguished the  genuine  imperial  and  goatee  of  the  typical 
sharp-featured  and  polite  Frenchman.  Two  long-coated 
Germans  were  stolidly  smoking  china  pipes  with  evident 
satisfaction.  Most  of  the  gathered  crowd  were  expectant. 
While  waiting,  many  of  the  natives  sat  cross-legged  on 
the  ground  indulging  in  the  fascinating  narghile,  and  if 
one  stood  near  enough,  he  could  hear  the  smoke  bubbling 


42  A  WONDER  WORKER. 

through  the  bulb,  and  observe  with  what  delight  the 
smoker  enveloped  himself  in  a  cloud  of  deliciously  per- 
fumed tobacco  smoke. 

To  some  of  the  company  assembled  the  gathering 
appeared  to  have  the  significance  of  a  religious  ceremonial, 
but  by  far  the  greater  number  had  come  together  for  pur- 
poses of  amusement.  No  people  under  the  sun  are  so  fond 
of  the  wonderful  and  the  inexplicable  as  are  the  natives 
of  India.  They  revel  in  mysticism,  provided  it  be  not  of 
too  violent  a  kind.  The  genius  of  the  people  tends  to  that 
"Nirvana  where  the  silence  reigns" — to  rest  and  to  indo- 
lent repose.  Nevertheless  there  are  no  people  on  earth  that 
delight  more  in  the  wonderful,  and  the  present  gathering 
composed  chiefly  of  Hindus,  had  congregated  in  the  blaz- 
ing sun  for  no  other  purpose  than  to  witness  some  extraor- 
dinary feats  of  jugglery  which  a  famous  wizard  had 
announced  he  would  show  them. 

The  sightseers  were  arranged  in  the  form  of  two-thirds 
of  a  circle,  the  remaining  third  being  occupied  by  a 
moderate-sized  tent  of  black  goat-hair  cloth,  before  which 
was  erected  a  low  platform  about  two  feet  high. 

The  great  conjurer  appeared  apparelled  in  a  red  fez  and 
a  flowing  black  robe  ornamented  profusely  with  hiero- 
glyphic and  cabalistic  designs  in  gold  and  crimson  threads. 
He  held  in  his  hands  a  short,  white,  polished  wand. 

The  performance  commenced  with  the  ordinary  leger- 
demain tricks,  such  as  the  clever  manipulation  of  swords, 
of  brass  balls,  of  spinning  plates  and  a  pretty  butterfly 
trick.  This  latter  performance  seemed  to  please  the  audi- 
ence very  much.  Taking  tissue  paper  of  various  colors 
the  performer  deftly  manufactured  some  paper  butterflies. 
By  a  gentle  movement  of  his  fan  he  set  them  in  motion, 


A  WONDER  WORKER.  43 

made  them  hover  around  his  head,  settle  on  his  left  hand, 
hover  again  and  settle  on  a  bouquet  of  flowers.  Finally  he 
fanned  them  high  into  the  air  and  a  slight  breeze  wafted 
them  among  the  audience  to  the  intense  satisfaction  of 
those  who  could  secure  one  of  them. 

After  some  snake-charming,  the  wizard  came  to  the 
most  important  part  of  his  entertainment. 

Producing  a  long  sack,  which  was  capable  of  holding 
a  man,  he  showed  it  to  the  audience,  turned  it  inside  out 
several  times  and  beat  it  on  the  floor  of  the  platform. 
Then  he  clapped  his  hands  and  an  assistant  appeared 
clothed  in  the  scantiest  of  garments,  consisting  of  the 
Hindu  hip-cloth  of  the  water-men  of  the  rivers. 

This  man  entered  the  sack  which  the  conjurer  held. 
The  conjurer  then  tied  the  sack  over  the  assistant's  head. 
He  then  began  to  ring  violently  a  good-sized  hand-bell. 
While  doing  this  the  wizard's  eyes  shone  brilliantly,  giving 
him  a  strangely  fascinating  appearance. 

Untying  the  sack  the  occupant's  head  just  appeared 
enveloped  in  a  large  white  turban.  As  the  folds  of  the 
sack  fell  from  his  shoulders  it  was  seen  that  he  was  dressed 
in  a  full  white  flowing  robe.  The  audience  were  much 
astonished  when  the  whole  figure  was  revealed,  to  dis- 
cover that  the  assistant,  now  fully  costumed,  held  in  one 
hand  a  dish  of  cooked  rice  actually  steaming,  and  in  the 
other  a  candlestick  containing  a  lighted  candle. 

The  next  trick  was  even  more  startling.  The  performer 
went  to  his  tent  and  brought  out  a  wicker-basket,  large 
enough  to  hold  his  assistant.  The  basket  was  placed  upon 
end,  the  lid  thrown  open  and  was  moved  about  in  various 
positions  so  that  every  one  could  see  that  it  was  a  real 
basket,  and  empty.  While  it  was  being  shown  to  the 


44  A  WONDER  WORKER. 

audience,  the  assistant  stepped  to  the  stage  and  stood  in 
one  corner  with  arms  folded  across  his  breast,  motionless 
as  a  statue. 

The  wizard,  placing  the  basket  in  the  middle  of  the 
stage,  invited,  by  gestures,  the  other  to  enter  it.  The 
latter  refused,  with  evident  anger  which  could  be  seen  in 
his  large  black  eyes.  The  wordless  entreaty  continued  for 
some  little  time,  but  the  smaller  man  remained  obdurate. 
He  would  not  move.  The  conjurer,  in  anger,  ran  to  the 
tent  and  brought  out  a  dangerous  looking  Damascus  blade, 
with  which  he  threatened  the  other,  who,  however,  did  not 
appear  to  be  much  concerned. 

Seeing  he  could  effect  nothing  by  theatening,  he  threw 
down  the  sword  and  recommenced  his  blandishments  and 
persuasive  gestures.  The  other  began  to  relent.  He 
looked  at  the  basket,  to  the  intense  satisfaction  of  the 
principal  actor.  All  this  time,  and  throughout  the  won- 
derful performance  no  word  was  spoken. 

The  assistant  looked  at  the  basket  again,  stepped  nearer 
to  it,  and  finally  consented  to  get  into  it.  The  black-robed 
master  of  magic  was  suave  and  genial  now,  but  as  soon 
as  the  man  was  fairly  within  the  basket  his  manner 
changed.  He  hurriedly  and  angrily  closed  the  lid,  fasten- 
ing the  hasp  with  a  stout,  wooden  peg  so  that  it  could  not 
be  opened  from  the  inside. 

It  was  evident  to  the  audience  that,  as  soon  as  the  assis- 
tant had  entered  the  wickerwork-basket  and  had  seen  his 
master  close  the  lid  on  him,  he  had  repented  of  his 
acquiescence,  for  all  could  hear  him  striking  the  under 
part  of  the  lid.  He  bent  the  willow  lid  in  his  efforts  to  get 
free. 

This  seemed  to  make  the  magician  still  more  angry. 


A  WONDER  WORKER.  45 

His  eyes  glared  angrily.  His  whole  body  shook  with  pas- 
sion as  he  paced  up  and  down  the  small  platform.  Every 
moment  his  anger  was  rising,  and  his  passion  becoming 
less  under  his  control. 

Suddenly,  in  his  frantic  rage,  he  caught  sight  of  the 
sword  where  he  had  thrown  it.  Seizing  it  he  rushed  to  the 
basket,  which  he  pierced.  When  he  withdrew  the  sword  it 
was  dripping  with  blood.  An  unearthly,  agonizing  shriek 
followed — such  a  shriek  that  it  made  many  of  the  dark 
faces  of  those  who  were  witnessing  the  strange  proceeding, 
turn  several  shades  lighter.  Many  believed  that  the 
magician  had  suddenly  gone  insane.  All  were  sure  that 
he  had  massacred  his  faithful  assistant.  The  audience 
rose  to  its  feet  at  the  horror  of  the  situation.  Some  were 
calling  aloud,  others  were  trembling,  and  not  a  few  would 
have  rushed  to  the  stage  to  secure  the  murderer. 

The  sight  of  blood  on  the  sword  served  only  to  enrage 
him  the  more.  Again  and  again  did  he  thrust  the  sharp 
instrument  through  the  wickerwork,  and  each  thrust  was 
responded  to  by  a  fresh  shriek  until  at  last  they  died  away. 
The  assistant's  life  had  evidently  been  sacrificed  to  a 
momentary  insane  fury  of  his  master. 

There  was  the  intensest  excitement  among  the  natives. 
A  hurried  consultation  was  held  by  about  a  dozen  of  the 
more  prominent  members  of  the  village  community.  They 
hastily  decided  upon  the  conjurer's  capture.  Some  made 
a  rapid  movement  toward  the  platform. 

The  now  perspiring  actor  ran  to  the  front  of  the  stage, 
and  threw  down  the  blood-stained  sword.  Immediately  he 
returned  to  the  basket.  Undoing  the  fastening,  he  tilted 
it  on  end,  with  the  lid  toward  the  excited  audience.  He 
then  opened  it. 


46  A  WONDER  WORKER. 

The  basket  was  empty! 

A  reaction  followed.  The  sightseers  stared  in  astonish- 
ment at  the  wonder  worker.  Never  had  they  seen  any- 
thing half  so  marvelous.  To  add  to  their  amazement  a 
moment  later  the  assistant  walked  from  the  tent,  smiling 
and  bowing.  The  two  clever  performers  went  to  the  front 
of  the  platform  and  made  a  profound  salaam.  The  per- 
formance was  over. 

Among  the  audience  was  a  sharp,  business-like  native 
of  the  United  States.  He  was  one  of  those  men  who 
can  be  found  in  almost  any  part  of  the  world.  He  was 
shrewd  and  keen,  with  an  eye  ever  open  to  the  main 
chance.  He  was  a  purchaser  of  elephants,  lions,  and  other 
wild  animals,  engaged  Albanians  for  dime  museums,  could 
drive  hard  bargains  in  live  snakes,  and  was  ever  on  the 
lookout  for  curios  and  freaks.  The  only  American  in  the 
audience  was  an  agent  for  a  large  amusement  syndicate 
in  New  York. 

"I  do  declare,"  he  said,  half  aloud ;  "if  I  could  only  get 
those  two  men  to  come  to  the  United  States,  they  would 
make  a  tremendous  hit.  I  would  give  them  their  own 
terms — almost.  They'd  be  the  greatest  thing  of  the  sea- 
son, sure.''" 

He  determined  to  make  an  engagement  with  them,  if 
possible,  but  he  knew  that  would  take  some  time.  Busi- 
ness matters  in  India — especially  outside  the  larger  cities 
— do  not  move  as  rapidly  as  on  Broadway,  New  York.  He 
knew,  also,  that  he  would  have  to  procure  the  consent  of 
the  chief,  or  head  man  of  the  village,  if  he  wished  to  avoid 
much  opposition  and  perhaps  have  the  neighboring  Eng- 
lish garrison  about  his  ears.  He  set  about  "interviewing" 
the  chief  at  once,  which  resulted  in  a  somewhat  lighter 


A  WONDER  WORKER.  47 

purse  and  an  arrangement  to  meet  the  two  clever  jugglers 
at  the  chief's  bungalow  that  evening  as  soon  as  the  moon 
had  risen. 

When  the  moon  was  flooding  the  landscape  with  a  soft, 
hazy  light,  touching  with  silver  every  palm  leaf,  and 
beautifying  the  daylight  unsightliness  of  the  village,  the 
American  agent  went  to  the  bungalow  of  the  village  chief. 
He  paid  little  attention  to  the  exquisite  saffron  hues  on  the 
western  horizon,  or  to  the  black  wall  of  night  in  the  east, 
or  to  the  moon  itself,  which  appears  so  near  the  earth  in 
these  regions.  His  mind  was  too  full  of  the  project  of 
securing  ''attractions"  for  American  pleasure-seekers  to 
give  much  attention  to  the  charms  of  nature. 

"Will  the  Sahib  be  pleased  to  enter  ?"  said  a  soft-voiced 
coolie,  as  the  Westerner  neared  the  chief's  house. 

"I  will  that,"  he  replied  emphatically.  "Just  tell  your 
boss  that  Peter  Jenkinson  has  arrived." 

The  servant  bowed  and  went  into  the  house,  reappear- 
ing an  instant  later. 

"The  Sahib  will  be  pleased  to  follow.  The  master 
waits." 

Mr.  Jenkinson  was  shown  into  a  large,  rather  low  room, 
decorated  with  Indian  art  muslin.  On  the  walls  were 
ornaments  of  shields,  spears,  and  long  guns.  Here  and 
there  on  the  bare  floor  of  polished  wood  were  stretched 
handsome  tiger  skins. 

Three  piles  of  cushions  were  arranged  on  a  low  platform 
at  one  end  of  the  room.  Immediately  in  front  of  the 
platform  stood  the  ever  ready  narghiles,  or  pipes,  with 
their  ivory  mouthpieces  and  long,  flexible  coils,  resemb- 
ling cobras  ready  to  spring. 

Za,  the  village  chief,  and  the  wonderful  magician  rose 


48  A  WONDER  WORKER. 

as  Mr.  Jenkinson  entered.  In  true  Oriental  style  they 
made  profound  salaams. 

The  room  was  dimly  lighted  by  an  antique  lamp  sus- 
pended by  a  silver  chain,  and  fed  by  an  aromatic  oil  which 
produced  a  pleasing  odor  similar  to  the  perfume  of  frank- 
incense. 

When  the  three  were  seated  on  the  divan,  the  old  man 
sounded  a  small  silver  gong  by  his  side.  Servants  ap- 
peared from  behind  the  arras  at  certain  points  around  the 
room.  One  brought  cooled  fruit,  another  coffee  in  tiny 
cups,  a  third  a  decanter  of  ice-cool  water  and  a  fourth 
brought  cocoa-palm  arrack.  A  fifth  servant,  who  appeared 
to  be  a  kind  of  steward,  stationed  himself  in  the  middle  of 
the  room,  watching  the  others  arrange  the  refreshments 
on  a  low  table  not  more  than  a  foot  high,  which  they 
placed  immediately  in  front  of  the  visitor. 

At  a  given  signal  from  the  steward  a  servant  appeared, 
carrying  what  seemed  to  the  American  guest  to  be  the 
top  part  of  a  cone  of  white  sugar,  but  which  he  found  on 
closer  inspection  to  be  a  white,  sweet  paste  liberally 
sprinkled  with  peeled  almonds. 

The  well-trained  coolies  moved  noiselessly,  with  cat-like 
grace  and  ease.  Having  fulfilled  their  duties  they  stood 
motionless  as  statues  around  the  walls,  until  at  a  given  sig- 
nal from  the  steward  they  disappeared  as  suddenly  and  as 
noiselessly  as  they  had  entered.  The  aged  servant  awaited 
a  signal  from  his  master.  A  slight  wave  of  the  hand  by 
the  chief  indicated  that  he,  too,  was  dismissed. 

As  soon  as  the  refreshments  had  been  partaken  of,  Mr. 
Peter  Jenkinson  broached  the  subject  then  nearest  to  his 
heart. 

"Would  Chudwalla,  the  great  conjurer,  be  willing  to 


A  WONDER  WORKER.  49 

come  to  the  United  States,  and  bring  his  assistant  with 
him?  What  were  his  terms?  For  how  long  would  he  con- 
sent to  remain  there?  What  would  he  consider  good 
terms  ?" 

These  and  many  more  questions  Jenkinson  asked.  It 
was  soon  found  there  was  no  indisposition  on  the  part  of 
the  clever  magician  to  come  to  an  agreement.  Chudwalla, 
however,  insisted  upon  one  peculiar  stipulation.  Every 
fourth  week  he  would  not  perform  in  public.  He  must 
have  one  week  in  each  month,  in  which  to  do  as  he  wished 
and  go  where  he  pleased.  Mr.  Jenkinson  knew  what  his 
"drawing"  power  in  the  States  would  be.  He  therefore 
saw  with  regret  that  he  would  not  be  as  lucrative  to  the 
syndicate,  by  just  one-fourth,  as  he  had  anticipated.  After 
the  arrangements  had  been  finally  settled,  and  the  arrack 
and  coffee  partaken  of,  Za,  .the  chief,  remarked: 

"The  Sahib  knows  not  the  real  reason  why  I  have  urged 
Chudwalla  to  accept  his  proposal." 

Mr.  Jenkinson  smiled  knowingly,  remarking  that  he  had 
a  pretty  good  notion. 

"Ah !  the  Sahib  mistakes.  If  he  will  but  listen  I  will  tell 
the  real  reason." 

"Fire  away,  then,  Mr.  Za.  These  soft  cushions,  pro- 
viding my  cheroots  do  not  give  out,  are  just  the  things  on 
which  to  listen  to  a  good  yarn,"  and  he  lay  back  luxu- 
riously and  let  the  blue  smoke  curl  lazily  from  his  lips. 
"Shall  be  glad  to  hear  the  whole  shooting-match !" 

"The  Sahib  speaks  many  words  in  a  strange  tongue." 

"Great  spooks,  no !    That's  United  States." 

"Ah !  the  great  people  speak  in  strange  ways.  It  is  not 
like  the  English  tongue  which  I  have  learned  in  my  old 
age." 


50  A  WONDER  WORKER. 

"By  the  woolly  horse  of  Barnum,  I  guess  not!  Why,  we 
beat  the  Britishers  in  tongue-wagging  every  time.  Man 
alive !  we  can  keep  our  words  locked  up  in  a  box  and  use 
them  when  we  want  them  without  the  trouble  of  speaking." 

Za  threw  his  palms  outward  as  a  sign  of  his  utter 
inability  to  comprehend  such  marvels. 

"The  Sahib  is  amusing  himself  at  our  expense,"  he  said. 

"Don't  you  believe  it,  old  gentleman ;  that's  no  fairy 
story.  In  our  country  we  think  nothing  of  talking  to  one 
another  five  hundred  miles  away." 

"Ah!  now  I  am  sure  that  your  worship  is  talking  for 
amusement,  for  he  means  that  men  talk  to  each  other  by 
means  of  scrolls." 

"Not  a  bit  of  it.    We  hear  each  other's  voices." 

"Wonderful!" 

"Well,  I  guess  'tis  kind  o'  wonderful,  come  to  think  of 
it.  The  fact  is  we  have  in  our  country  the  greatest  kind 
of  wizard  the  world  ever  saw.  The  things  he  does  beat 
Chudwalla's  all  hollow." 

"Beats  mine?"  said  Chudwalla.  "I  should  like  to  see 
him." 

"All  right.  As  soon  as  we  get  to  New  York  we  will  go 
over  to  New  Jersey  and  leave  our  cards.  But  what's  your 
yarn,  chief?  Let's  hear  your  story." 


THE  HINDU' 8  STORY.  51 


CHAPTER  VI. 
THE  HINDU'S  STORY 

''You  saw  the  ruins  of  a  temple  of  Brahma  on  the  hill 
behind  Chudwalla's  tent  this  afternoon,"  began  Za,  as  he 
stroked  his  long  silver  beard  reflectively.  "My  story  has 
much  to  do  with  that  place,  which  was  once  one  of  the 
most  sacred  shrines  in  Upper  India. 

"I  was  not  always  as  you  see  me  now,  the  petty  chief  of 
this  village  of  Chour,  which,  as  you  know,  lies  at  the  base 
of  a  spur  of  the  Himalaya  mountains,  and  is  about  forty 
miles  from  Simla. 

"I  was  once  a  Rajah  of  considerable  importance,  and 
Purkundee,  Seran,  Loodheana,  Sirbind,  and  other  towns 
in  the  Seik  states  under  British  protection,  held  me  in  great 
respect  or  paid  tribute  to  me. 

"The  reason  of  my  prosperity  was  the  possession  of  a 
talisman,  which  had  been  handed  down  from  father  to  son 
in  our  tribe  for  generations.  This  talisman  was  a  won- 
derfully yellow  diamond.  It  was  so  peculiar  and  so 
brilliant  that  merchants  who  came  from  afar  offered  me 
large  sums  if  I  would  but  sell  it. 

"It  was  so  famous  a  jewel  that  it  was  known  through- 
out Hindustan  by  the  name  of  'The  Eye  of  Brahma.'  Be- 
sides its  special  brilliancy  the  diamond  possessed  many 
other  remarkable  qualities.  People  who  gazed  at  it  long 
became  transfixed  to  the  place,  and  were  unable  to  con- 
ceal any  secret  which  others  might  demand  of  them.  Itc 


62  TEE  HINDU'S  STORY. 

application  was  said  to  cure  the  bite  of  most  venomous 
snakes.  In  addition  to  all  this  it  brought  the  most 
unlimited  good-fortune  to  the  possessor.  To  it  was  at- 
tributed the  power  of  curing  any  form  of  sickness  from 
which  any  member  of  the  family  who  owned  it  was  suffer- 
ing. 

"You  may  be  sure  I  guarded  such  a  treasure  with  the 
utmost  caution.  One  day  some  Brahmins  of  the  temple 
of  Chour  came  to  me  with  a  proposition.  Would  I 
allow  the  Eye  of  Brahma  to  be  kept  in  the  temple?  It 
would  very  much  increase  their  revenues  if  this  were 
permitted.  I  did  not  wish  to  part  with  the  precious  talis- 
man, but  they  persuaded  me  that  by  placing  it  in  the 
temple  it  would  be  considered  as  still  in  my  possession 
and  I  could  always  have  some  one  of  my  own  household 
to  safeguard  it.  I  still  held  out.  The  priest  then  offered 
to  give  me  one-third  of  all  the  offerings  that  were  made 
by  Hindu  pilgrims.  Under  these  conditions  I  consented. 
The  Eye  of  Brahma  was  placed  in  the  forehead  of  the 
statue  of  Brahma. 

"The  Eye  of  Brahma  made  the  temple  of  Chour  the 
most  famous  shrine  in  all  India.  Thousands  upon  thou- 
sands of  pilgrims  came  yearly  to  this  temple.  I  grew 
wealthier  every  year." 

"Kind  o'  struck  a  bonanza,  eh  ?"  remarked  the  American. 

"I  do  not  know  whit  the  Sahib  means,  but  I  know  that 
everything  prospered  with  me,  so  that  the  English  at 
Lahore  in  the  Punjaub  to  the  north  of  us,  and  at  Delhi  to 
the  south,  looked  at  me  askance  and  thought  that  I  was 
becoming  too  powerful  a  native  chief. 

"Whether  the  events  I  am  about  to  relate  were  insti- 
gated by  the  English  I  do  not  know,  but  in  the  light  of 


THE  HINDU'S  STORY.  53 

subsequent  events  I  have  every  reason  for  believing  they 
were. 

"One  year  a  great  pilgrimage  was  announced  to  the 
temple  of  Chour  for  the  last  week  in  June.  For  days 
before  the  event  hundreds  of  people  had  arrived  and 
pitched  their  black,  goat-hair  tents  through  all  the  low- 
lands around  the  temple  hill. 

"On  the  night  of  the  pilgrimage  I  had  taken  home,  as 
my  share  of  the  temple  profits  a  larger  bag  of  coins  than 
I  had  ever  done  before.  As  I  was  going  along  from  the 
hill  to  my  house  I  passed  a  great  many  men  who  were 
prowling  about,  and  who  appeared  to  be  watching  me. 
Every  tree  and  shrub  seemed,  that  night,  to  be  alive  with 
them.  They  were  hiding  in  every  dark  corner.  I  reached 
my  house,  however,  unmolested,  and  put  my  money  in  the 
large  chest  where  I  kept  my  wealth. 

"There  were  strange  and  ominous  signs  of  some  coming 
trouble.  I  became  anxious  for  the  safety  of  my  talisman, 
although  I  remembered  that  Chudwalla — our  friend  here, 
then  a  member  of  my  household — was  guarding  it  night 
and  day  in  the  temple. 

"As  soon  as  possible  I  returned  to  the  temple.  I  had 
scarcely  entered  the  private  door  of  the  priests  when  I 
heard  the  alarming  sounds  of  an  attack  on  the  big  doors. 
Heavy  beams  were  used  to  break  them  down.  Huge  rocks 
were  hurled.  At  length  they  gave  way.  Hundreds  of 
swarthy  Hindus  rushed  into  the  edifice.  The  keepers  of 
the  temple  tried  hard  to  prevent  the  pillage.  I  was 
attacked  and  left  senseless  on  the  floor.  Chudwalla  was 
thought  to  be  dead  from  the  injuries  he  received. 

"When  I  recovered  consciousness  my  diamond  was 
gone.  Weak  and  bleeding  I  crawled  down  the  hill  to  my 


54  THE  HINDU'S  STORY. 

house.  It  was  in  flames.  My  treasure  chest  had  been 
rifled.  The  savings  of  years  had  been  stolen.  My  ser- 
vants had  fled  in  terror. 

"Weak  as  I  was  from  the  injuries  I  had  received,  I  col- 
lected my  tribesmen.  Before  daylight  we  set  off  in  haste 
toward  Patialah  with  the  intentions  of  overtaking  the 
marauders  if  possible,  and  of  compelling  restitution  of  the 
jeweL" 

"A  regular  Donnybrook,  eh?"  again  interrupted  Mr. 
Jenkinson. 

"I  understand  not  the  term,  Sahib,  but  we  captured  the 
chief  of  the  Patialah  tribe  and  held  him  prisoner.  Then 
the  British  authorities  interfered  and  we  wrere  all  com- 
pelled to  travel  down  the  Dooah  canal,  a  distance  of  nearly 
two  hundred  miles,  to  Delhi,  to  have  the  case  tried  accord- 
ing to  the  slow  fashion  of  English  law.  The  judge  ordered 
the  return  of  my  wonderful  diamond.  I  was  overjoyed. 

"When  the  officers  began  to  put  the  sentence  into  exe- 
cution, alas!  my  talisman  was  nowhere  to  be  found.  It 
had  as  completely  disappeared  as  if  it  had  never  existed. 
A  year  later  some  of  my  tribe  traced  it  to  London,  but 
after  that  we  lost  all  trace  of  it  completely. 

"And  you  expect  Chudwalla  to  find  that  bit  of  char- 
coal for  you  in  the  United  States  !*'  exclaimed  Jenkinson, 
now  thoroughly  interested.  "Don't  forget  that  the  United 
States  is  a  terrible  big  place." 

"Wait,  Sahib,  and  you  shall  hear  my  reasons  for  so  hop- 
ing. I  consulted  a  member  of  the  Holy  Brotherhood,  the 
monk  Attra,  who  is  an  adept  of  our  esoteric  Brahminism. 
He  has  prophesied  that  unless  I  send  some  one  in  search 
of  my  talisman,  who  has  seen  the  Eye  of  Brahma,  and  was 
present  when  the  temple  was  pillaged,  I  shall  never  recover 


THE  HINDU'S  8TOR7.  55 

it.  or  my  fortunes.  It  has  been  my  fate  to  long  and  wait 
for  years,  for  this  person.  To-day  I  have  found  the 
favored  one  in  the  great  magician,  for  I  have  discovered 
that  he  is  the  Chudwalla  that  formerly  guarded  my 
precious  treasure." 

"Well,  I  do  declare!"  said  the  agent,  "if  you  Hindus 
don't  beat  just  everything.  Do  you  mean  to  say.  stranger, 
that  you  place  reliance  on  such  a  story?  Well,  well!  If 
I  ever !  Dear  me !  Well,  well !  Strikes  me,  partner,  that 
a  Xew  York  newsboy  would  have  a  fine  sight  better  chance 
to  get  that  back  for  you  than  our  friend,  the  conjurer, 
here.  By  the  way,  what  makes  you  think  the  jewel  is  in 
my  country?" 

"The  American  Sahib  must  know,"  replied  the  old 
chieftain,  "that  the  great  pundit,  Attra,  has  often  projected 
his  astral  form  into  the  land  of  the  fresh-water  seas,  and 
has  more  than  once  seen  the  Eye  of  Brahma  in  that  land 
where  no  thirst  can  come." 

Mr.  Peter  Jenkinson  turned  and  looked  sharply  into 
the  face  of  the  chief,  who,  he  imagined,  was  quizzing  him. 
Seeing  only  the  most  perfect  credulity  there,  amusement 
began  to  take  the  place  of  suspicion,  although  he  recog- 
nized there  was  indeed  something  pathetic  in  the  old  man's 
sorrow  for  his  losses. 

"Unfortunately,"  continued  Za,  "Attra  has  been  unable 
to  exactly  locate  the  diamond.  When  his  astral  form — 
his  other  self — reunites  itself  with  his  own  body,  in  some 
strange  manner,  his  memory  loses  all  consciousness  of  the 
place  where  he  has  seen  the  Eye." 

"Look  here,  old  man,"  said  the  practical  Yankee,  "all 
this  is  undoubtedly  a  'fake/  You  tell  Mr.  Attra  so,  with 
my  compliments,  when  you  see  him  again."  And  the  buyer 


66  THE  HINDU'S  STORY. 

of  elephants  leaned  back  on  the  soft  cushions,  with  his 
hands  behind  his  head,  and  the  right  foot  resting  on  the 
left  knee,  the  picture  of  luxurious  rest  and  self-confidence. 

"I  am  sure  the  guest  of  Za  does  not  wish  to  insult  his 
host,"  said  the  chief,  with  a  dignity  which  surprised  and 
checked  the  agent. 

"Pardon  me,  partner ;  no  offense,  you  know." 

"If  the  Sahib  is  not  convinced  that  I  speak  truly,"  con- 
tinued the  chief,  with  an  impressive  native  dignity,  "I 
shall  be  pleased  to  show  him  a  few  wonders.  I,  myself, 
have  reached  to  no  small  attainment  in  Brahminical  mys- 
teries, although  I  cannot  control  the  powers  of  nature  in 
any  such  degree  as  the  wonderful  Attra." 

"All  right,  old  man;  go  ahead.  I  shall  be  delighted 
to  see  some  more  monkey  tricks,  but  I  don't  expect  they 
will  beat  Chudwalla's  anyway." 

Za  clapped  his  hands.  The  old  coolie  appeared  from 
behind  the  arras  where  he  had  heard  all  that  had  passed. 
He  knew  what  his  master  wanted.  He  placed  a  brass 
tripod  of  equisite  workmanship  in  the  center  of  the  room, 
about  fifteen  feet  away  from  the  low  refreshment  table  at 
the  foot  of  the  divan.  The  tripod  was  an  excellent  speci- 
men of  Indian  handicraft,  representing  three  wonderfully 
wrought  and  lifelike-looking  snakes,  whose  heads  were  on 
the  ground,  and  whose  undulating  bodies  were  so  arranged 
.that  the  three  tails  supported  a  curiously  wrought  brass 
dish.  Below  the  dish  was  a  shelf  on  which  was  a  lighted 
spirit-lamp,  which  had  already  well-heated  the  dish  above 
it. 

At  a  signal  from  Za,  the  servant  placed  some  pieces  of 
sandalwood  on  the  dish,  and  over  them  scattered  a  white 
powder.  He  then  retired  as  noiselessly  as  he  had  entered. 


THE  HINDU'S  8TOKY.  57 

Very  soon  a  faint,  white  smoke  rose  from  the  dish.  It 
resembled  the  meadow  reek  on  a  warm  summer  night. 
A  delicious,  soft,  languorous  odor  began  to  be  perceived 
by  the  American  searcher  for  curiosities.  He  enjoyed  the 
delicate  perfume.  He  imagined  himself  reclining  on  rose- 
colored  clouds,  seeing  in  the  mist  before  him  the  most 
beautiful  of  landscapes,  embroidered  by  the  fairest  of 
earth's  flowers.  To  his  imagination,  singing-birds  filled 
the  air  with  melody,  and  he  pictured  to  himself,  in  the 
thin  vapor,  that  most  delightful  of  all  things  in  a  hot 
country — a  cascade  of  cool,  limpid  water. 

Jenkinson  propped  his  'head  with  a  pillow  and  looked 
fixedly  at  the  tripod.  Those  spiral  folds  of  the  brass 
snakes  were  certainly  moving  and  writhing! 

The  brazier  now  sent  up  a  white  column  of  perfumed 
smoke,  completely  hiding  the  light  of  the  single  lamp 
above.  It  filled  the  distant  part  of  the  room  and  hid  the 
silken  arras. 

Za,  sitting  on  the  left  of  the  American,  began  to  grow 
rigid.  Stretching  out  his  long  thin  arm,  with  stiffened 
forefinger,  he  pointed  to  the  white  cloud. 

"Look !" 

"Who  is  it?"  asked  the  agent  in  an  awed  whisper. 

"Attra  of  the  Holy  Brotherhood !" 

What  did  Jenkinson  see,  or  at  least,  what  did  he  ever 
after  declare  he  saw? 

In  the  center  of  the  white  vapor,  now  massed  in  the 
far  part  of  the  room,  he  discovered  the  faint,  indistinct 
outlines  of  a  human  figure.  Gradually  it  grew  more  dis- 
tinct, and  he  saw  the  tall  form  of  a  Brahmin  mendicant 
priest  clad  in  a  long,  yellow  robe,  cinctured  about  the 
waist,  from  which  was  suspended  a  string  of  prayer  stones. 


58  THE  HINDU'S  STORY. 

He  held  in  his  hand  an  empty  wooden  rice  bowl.  His 
eyebrows  were  shaven  and  the  finger  nails  were  dyed 
black.  His  eyes  had  the  deep,  cavernous  look  of  a 
Brahminical  mystic. 

The  figure  appeared  about  three  feet  above  the  ground. 
The  agent  was  much  interested,  arid,  perhaps,  not  a  little 
startled.  He  was  about  to  ask  Chudwalla  whether  he 
could  not  reproduce  this  illusion  when  he  came  to  America, 
when  Za  made  a  peremptory  gesture  for  silence  by  putting 
his  finger  to  his  lips. 

"Look  again,  Sahib." 

Once  more  Jenkinson  turned  his  eyes  in  the  direction 
of  the  white  vapor.  Looking  intently  at  the  still  visible 
figure  of  Attra,  he  discovered  at  his  side  the  faint  out- 
lines of  another  person.  In  a  short  time  the  filmy  figure 
had  assumed  definite  shape.  Jenkinson  was  intensely  sur- 
prised, for  in  the  mist  he  saw  himself.  His  own  face  and 
features ;  his  soft  felt  hat,  well  back  on  his  head,  standing 
collar,  cutaway  coat,  and  even  his  high  pants  and  low 
shoes.  He  saw  a  perfect  picture  of  himself.  The  vision 
even  went  into  details,  and  he  perceived  himself  in  his 
usual  attitude,  his  hands  in  his  pants'  pockets,  with  the 
ever-ready  cheroot  in  his  mouth. 

The  agent  sat  with  wide-open  mouth,  staring  intently 
at  the  vision  of  himself.  For  once  in  his  life  he  had  seen 
something  which  his  practical,  business  mind  could  not 
account  for — which  he  could  not  price  or  estimate. 

"Well,  I  do  declare!  Well,  I  do  declare!" -fie  repeated 
time  and  again. 

Chudwalla  and  Za  smiled  with  satisfaction.  They  had, 
at  least,  shown  their  visitor  something  the  secret  of  which 
he  did  not  pretend  to  fathom. 


THE  HINDU'S  STORY.  59 

The  apparition,  which  had  lasted  for  the  space  of  about 
ninety  seconds,  now  began  to  fade.  Smoke  had  ceased  to 
ascend  from  the  metal  dish.  In  two  minutes  the  room  was 
clear  of  the  heavily  perfumed  vapor. 

"The  American  Sahib  will  give  us  credit  for  being  able 
to  accomplish  some  wonders,"  said  the  now  pleased  old 
man. 

"You  may  stake  your  last  dollar  on  that,"  remarked 
Jenkinson,  as  he  rose  to  go.  "Well,  then,  Chudwalla,  1 
meet  you  at  the  P.  &  O.  steamers'  docks  in  Bombay  on  the 
tenth  of  next  month." 

Chudwalla  bowed  assent. 

"I  have  one  word  to  add  to  my  story,"  said  Za,  as  he 
led  his  guest  to  the  veranda  of  his  bungalow.  "Should  the 
present  holder  of  the  precious  Eye  of  Brahma,  when  dis- 
covered, be  found  to  be  an  honest  man  and  willing  to 
return  to  me  what  is  my  own  and  which  the  English'  court 
at  Delhi  has  declared  to  be  my  own,  I  will,  for  his  honesty, 
give  him  or  his  son,  five  hundred  acres  of  the  richest  land 
here  around  Chour." 

"I  tell  you  what  it  is,  my  friend,"  replied  the  agent: 
"it  is  my  belief  that  you  will  never  have  the  occasion  to 
part  with  your  land,  although  it  is  Peter  Jenkinson  who 
wishes  you  luck  in  your  search.  Put  it  there — old  man." 

As  he  again  shook  hands  with  the  old  chieftain,  he 
asked  one  more  question. 

"Say,  squire,  just  tell  me  now,  won't  you,  how  those 
figures  appeared  in  or  on  that  smoke  ?  I  am  sure  it  beats 
any  other  trick  I  have  ever  seen  in  any  part  of  the  world." 

The  Hindu  stroked  his  long  silvery  beard  and  smiled, 
but  remained  silent.  And  so  Mr.  Jenkinson  never  learned 
the  mystery.  Whether  he  had  seen  the  astral  form  of 


60  MR.  H1LLSON  LEAVES. 

which  there  is  so  much  talk,  or  a  vision,  or  whether 
his  own  brain  had  been  over-excited  so  that  he  imagined 
he  had  seen  things  that  had  no  reality,  he  is  unable  to 
determine  to  this  day. 

As  he  walked  to  his  lodging-place,  he  began  to  think 
over  the  events  of  the  evening. 

"Five  hundred  acres,  eh  !  poor  old  man  !  What  strange 
fancies  and  delusions  there  are  in  the  world !  Guess  he'll 
keep  his  land  for  many  a  year  to  come.  Great  Scott,  five 
hundred !  Why,  the  railroad  will  be  running  from  Lahore 
and  Simla  to  Delhi  in  a  year  or  two  right  through  this 
valley.  There  would  be  money  in  land  then.  I  do  declare, 
when  I  get  back  to  the  United  States  if  I  am  not  going  to 
have  a  hunt  for  that  stone  myself.  It's  queer  if  Peter 
Jenkinson  don't  get  some  trace  of  it." 


CHAPTER  VII. 

MR.    HILLSON    LEAVES. 

ONE  of  the  pleasures  of  our  young  tnends  on  returning 
to  college  as  members  of  the  graduating  class,  was  to  find 
a  cosy  class-room  ready  for  them.  Mr.  Hillson  had 
thought  long  about  doing  something  for  the  boys  whom  he 
was  about  to  leave.  He  wished  to  make  a  special  parting 
gift,  by  which  they  would  remember  him. 

He  was  at  a  loss  what  to  do.  He  had  thought  of  adding 
something  to  the  gymnasium,  but  both  it  and  the  game- 
rooms  were  abundantly  stocked  with  everything  necessary 
and  useful  for  all  indoor  exercise  or  amusement.  Then 
he  thought  of  purchasing  some  sets  of  favorite  authors  for 


MR.  HILLSON  LEAVES.  61 

the  boys'  library,  but  he  relinquished  that  idea.  None 
that  were  really  valuable  were  wanting.  Finally  he  hit 
upon  the  plan  of  furnishing  the  class-room  of  the  Phil- 
osophers in  as  comfortable  a  manner  as  was  consistent 
with  the  good  hard  study  which  was  expected  from  the 
graduating  class.  He  procured  a  fine  ornamental  swing- 
lamp,  some  lace  curtains,  three  or  four  steel  engravings 
of  pictures  by  great  masters.  The  old  and  whittled  desks 
were  removed  and  each  Philosopher  was  provided  with 
a  private  desk  and  a  very  comfortable  chair.  The  desk 
and  platform  of  the  professor  were  taken  away,  and  a  long 
green-covered  table  substituted ;  at  the  head  of  which  a 
very  comfortable  arm-chair  was  provided  for  the  profes- 
sors who  were  to  introduce  these  boys  to  the  mysteries  of 
logic,  ontology,  psychology,  natural  theology,  and  Cath- 
olic ethics. 

Perhaps  my  readers  will  be  inclined  to  say  that  the  boys 
deserved  such  a  room  if  they  had  to  study  such  hard  sub- 
jects as  those  just  named.  Well,  let  them  wait  until  they 
arrive  at  the  last  stage  in  their  college  career  and  they  will 
find  this  formidable  array  of  subjects  to  be  not  quite  so 
formidable  as  they  appear  on  paper.  Our  young  friends 
did  not  find  them  so  difficult  after  they  had  once  become 
used  to  the  terms,  and  had  learned  how  to  "use  their  tools" 
as  it  were.  But  of  this  we  shall  speak  later. 

On  the  day  following  their  arrival,  accompanied  by  Mr. 
Shalford,  the  members  of  the  Philosophy  class  were  taken 
by  Mr.  Hillson  to  their  class-room. 

As  he  unlocked  the  door  and  told  the  boys  to  enter,  he 
was  amply  repaid  for  all  the  trouble  he  had  taken  by  wit- 
nessing their  surprise  and  delight. 

"This  is  glorious,"  said  Stapleton.    "Who  did  it  all?" 


62  MR.  HILLSON  LEAVES. 

"Splendid!"  "Fine!"  "Grand!"  "Great!"  was  the 
chorus  of  admiration  from  the  delighted  boys. 

"Who  did  it  all  ?"  again  asked  Frank  Stapleton. 

Mr.  Hillson  was  silent. 

"I'll  tell  you  who  did  it,"  said  Mr.  Shalford;  "there's 
the  culprit" — pointing  to  the  retiring  prefect,  who,  the 
boys  afterward  declared,  actually  blushed.  "He  is  the 
kind,  thoughtful  man  who  can  never  do  enough  for  you 
boys.  I  do  not  believe  there  is  a  Philosophy  class-room 
in  any  college  in  the  country  equal  to  this." 

"I  don't  believe  there  is,  sir,"  said  Hunter. 

"And  you  must  show  your  appreciation  of  Mr.  Hillson's 
kindness,  not  only  by  taking  care  of  these  fine  desks  and 
chairs  here,  but  also  while  you  have  things  very  comfort- 
able, not  to  waste  your  time  in  idleness.  Believe  me,  boys, 
your  semi-annual  examinations  come  terribly  soon.  I 
know  they  did  for  me  when  I  was  a  boy,"  he  added,  laugh- 
ingly. 

"You  will  not  be  much  overlooked  this  year,"  he  con- 
tinued ;  "you  will  be  left  considerably  alone.  You  will  do 
your  studying  here,  so  you  are  free  from  all  study-hall 
routine.  I  need  hardly  say  that  Mr.  Hillson  has  procured 
you  that  privilege,  and  it  is  my  opinion  that  he  is  over- 
kind,  over-indulgent,  and  of  course,  is  spoiling  all  of  you 
— yes,  spoiling  all  of  you." 

The  laughing  twinkle  in  his  eyes  belied  his  words. 

"No,  no,  no,  no,"  came  the  chorus  in  earnest  protest. 
They  scarcely  knew  whether  Mr.  Shalford  meant  what  he 
said. 

"Well,  I  have  my  doubts.  Yes,  I  have  my  doubts,  but 
time  will  tell.  But,  seriously,  boys,  your  position  is  a 
responsible  one  in  the  college.  You  are  the  highest  class. 


MR.  HTLLSON  LEAVES,  63 

All  the  boys  look  up  to  you.  The  moral  tone  of  St.  Cuth- 
bert's  depends  largely  on  you  ten  boys. 

"At  Mr.  Hillson's  earnest  solicitation  I  put  no  obstacle 
in  the  way  of  his  plans  for  your  comfort.  You  have  now 
to  show  your  appreciation  by  acting  honorably  and  in  a 
manly  way  throughout  the  whole  year.  I  am  sure  it  would 
wound  Mr.  Hillson  very  much  if  he  were  to  learn  that 
you  had  lost,  by  any  bad  conduct  on  your  part,  a  privilege 
he  had  great  difficulty  in  obtaining  for  you, "and  I  must 
candidly  confess — although  I  do  not  believe  those  wings 
will  sprout  this  year — I  must  confess,  that  I  do  not  antici- 
pate any  trouble  from  you." 

"Don't  you  fear  for  us,  Mr.  Shalford,"  said  Claude 
Winters.  "I'll  keep  these  fellows  straight — you'll  see." 
At  which  remark  all  the  rest  burst  out  laughing. 

"And  we,  sir,  will  constitute  ourselves  a  committee  of 
the  whole  to  look  after  the  little  man  in  long  pants,"  re- 
marked Selby. 

"Oh !  I'll  pay  you  for  that  when  I  get  you  alone,"  said 
Claude. 

"Well,  good-by,  boys,"  said  Mr.  Shalford.  "I'll  leave 
you  for  a  last  talk  with  Mr.  Hillson.  Oh,  I  forgot  one 
thing,  which  I  may  as  well  state  now  and  then  everything 
will  be  understood  between  us.  This  room  is  open  to  you 
at  all  times,  but  it  is  not  free  to  any  boy,  big  or  small, 
who  does  not  belong  to  the  Philosophy  class,  nor  can  any 
one  come  here  without  having  first  obtained  my  permis- 
sion. Please,  let  this  be  well  understood.  Is  it  all  clear, 
boys?  Everything  clear?" 

They  all  answered  that  they  understood  the  regulations 
fully. 

"Well,  then,  I  leave  you  now.    I'm  very  busy.    I  leave 


64  MR.  HILLSON  LEAVES. 

Mr.  Hillson  to  your  tender  mercies,  ha,  ha!"  and  he  was 
gone. 

It  was  a  pleasant  time,  that  next  half  hour.  It  was 
never  eradicated  from  the  memory  of  several  of  the  boys 
present.  At  first  there  was  a  little  restraint  on  the  part  of 
the  boys.  All  wanted  to  say  something  suitable,  and  no 
one  seemed  able  to  think  of  the  right  thing.  The  one 
thought  predominated.  They  were  about  to  lose  their 
true  and  tried  friend. 

Mr.  Hillson,  in  his  tactful  way,  came  to  the  rescue.  He 
became  reminiscent,  going  over  all  the  years  he  had  spent 
at  St.  Cuthbert's.  He  remembered  these  strong,  big,  full- 
grown  boys  when  they  first  came,  little,  timid  fellows  in  the 
small  division.  He  recalled  this  famous  hand-ball  game, 
that  celebrated  baseball  victory,  or  that  long  day's  rabbit- 
hunting. 

He  remembered  them  on  the  day  when  this  almost  iden- 
tical group,  four  years  ago,  came  over  to  the  large  yard. 
He  recalled  the  various  events  of  interest,  year  by  year, 
until  they  were  surprised  by  the  accuracy  of  a  memory, 
which  could  bring  up  details  of  events  long  since  forgotten 
•by  themselves.  Finally,  in  his  chatty  way,  he  went  over 
the  principal  events  of  the  previous  year.  He  touched  upon 
the  mad  freak  of  the  boys  at  the  haunted  mill,  and  of  Hun- 
ter's subsequent  illness.  He  brought  back  to  their  memory 
how  Hunter  had  suffered  mental  tortures  afterward 
through  the  slanders  of  Finch  and  Buckley,  of  the  part 
the  now  changed,  but  then  misguided  Jones  had  played 
in  that  miserable  affair,  and  how  everything  was  event- 
ually righted. 

He  enquired  whether  those  lines  were  ever  recited  for 
the  attempted  trial  of  the  Testy  Tailor  for  the  murder  of 


MR.  HILL  SON  LEAVES.  65 

the  living  witness,  who  testified  that  he  was  murdered. 
The  catching  of  the  thief  and  his  expulsion — the  visit  to 
Rosecroft  manor — and  the  baptizing  of  the  dying  man  on 
the  hillside  last  year,  were  all  recalled  with  much  more 
fullness  of  detail  than  recorded  in  a  former  volume,  and 
from  each  event  he  drew  some  good  lesson,  which  tended 
to  form  character,  admonish,  or  give  encouragement. 

But  Mr.  Hillson  was  at  his  best  when  giving  these  boys 
he  loved  so  much  some  good  advice  for  the  future — advice 
which,  if  followed,  would  enable  them  to  avoid  the  snares 
and  pitfalls  of  a  great  college,  where  all  sorts  of  charac- 
ters and  dispositions  must  necessarily  meet  and  have  their 
influence  for  good  or  ill  on  one  another. 

It  would  be  impossible  to  reproduce  his  words.  Pen 
and  ink  will  not  convey  the  glance  of  the  eye,  or  record 
the  earnest,  loving  tones  of  the  spoken  words.  Cold  type 
would  be  but  a  poor  medium  by  which  to  convey  to  the 
reader  a  notion  of  the  respect  and  love  in  which  these  boys 
held  their  former  teacher  and  prefect. 

He  spoke  earnestly  and  in  a  heartful  way  to  hearts  that 
were  full  also;  full  of  deep  feeling  and  of  good  resolve 
and  noble  purpose.  All  he  said  fell  apparently  on  good 
soil,  which  he  himself  had  taken  years  to  prepare. 

After  having  spoken  seriously  for  some  time,  he  as- 
sumed a  lighter  vein.  He  did  not  want  the  strain  to  be  too 
great. 

"And  now,  boys,  I  want  to  say  a  word  about  your  study 
of  philosophy.  Work  hard.  Be  united,  and  when  the 
time  comes  for  having  circles  (not  wheels.  Claude,)  try 
earnestly  to  put  each  other  in  the  sack !" 

All  this  was,  as  yet,  worse  than  Greek  to  the  boys.  He 
continued : 


66  MR.  HILL  SON  LEAVES. 

"Master  well  your  terms.  They  are  your  instruments 
of  mental  warfare.  Always  argue  in  syllogistic  form. 
How  is  this  for  a  syllogism,  Claude?  'Either  it  rains,  or 
it  does  not  rain.  But  it  does  not  rain  ;  therefore,  it  rains'  ?" 
and  Mr.  Hillson  laughed  aloud  at  the  boy's  perplexity. 
As  yet  it  was  too  much  for  him.  None  of  them,  at  that 
stage,  could  detect  the  evident  sophism. 

"Never  mind,  Claude.  Wonderful  wisdom  will  come 
to  you  by  and  by.  Don't  be  in  a  hurry.  And  now,  boys, 
as  I  have  only  half  an  hour  left  before  the  train  starts,  and 
as  I  have  to  say  good-by  to  several  members  of  the  faculty, 
I  must  leave  you  with  one  word :  Consider  well,  this  year, 
what  your  calling  in  life  is  to  be.  Choose  well,  but  pray 
much  before  you  choose.  Some  people  say  Catholic  col- 
leges are  instituted  for  the  purpose  of  securing  young  men 
for  the  priesthood.  This  is  not  true.  A  Catholic  college 
will  foster  a  vocation  if  a  boy  has  one,  but  it  cannot  give 
it.  A  vocation  to  the  sacred  ministry  is  a  gift  of  God. 
If  any  of  you  feel  that  you  have  a  vocation  to  the  sacred 
ministry,  in  the  name  of  God,  do  not  neglect  it,  but  guard 
it  as  you  would  the  most  precious  jewel  you  could  possess. 
Among  the  thousands  of  priests  who  are  engaged  in  paro- 
chial work  there  is  scarcely  one  who  does  not  do  two  men's 
work,  and  often  more.  It  is  as  true  to-day  as  ever  that 
the  harvest  is  great,  but  the  laborers  are  few.  And,  boys, 
do  not  sneer  and  think  the  less  of  those  rural  priests  be- 
cause their  worn  coat  may  be  shiny  at  the  collar,  or  the 
knees  of  their  pants  are  over-smooth.  They  are  the  heroes 
and  noblemen  of  the  Church  in  this  country,  who,  being 
refined,  educated,  polished,  give  up  every  convenience  of 
life  for  souls.  Oh,  I  could — " 

But  he  stopped  short  and  hastily  looked  at  his  watch. 


MR.  HILLSON  LEAVES.  67 

"Really,  my  dear  boys,  I  could  say  a  great  deal  about 
these  grand  characters,  but  I  have  not  time.  Now,  may 
God  bless  you.  May  Almighty  God  bless  you.  I,  I  will 
pray  for  you  always.  Good-by,  good-by !" 

The  young  fellows  crowded  around  him  with  choking 
hearts.  Long  were  the  hand-clasps,  mostly  in  silence.  Full 
hearts  would  not  trust  trembling  lips  to  speak.  "Good-by, 
good-by,  sir,"  was  about  all  any  one  trusted  himself  to 
utter.  The  pity  of  it,  that  when  our  hearts  are  fullest  our 
words  are  weakest.  Brief  indeed  were  the  words  they 
used,  but  they  were  eloquent  of  mutual  love  and  esteem, 
mutual  well-wishings,  and  mutual  regrets  at  parting.  Out 
of  the  abundance  of  the  heart  the  mouth  speaketh,  but 
there  are  times,  also,  when  the  heart  is  so  abundantly 
filled  with  solemn  emotion  that  words  are  useless  and 
almost  a  sacrilege. 

More  than  one  big  tear  rolled  down  from  Mr.  Hillson's 
eyes.  At  last  the  hand-shaking  was  done.  Once  more 
the  loved  prefect  said,  "Good-by,  boys,"  but  no  one  would 
trust  himself  to  speak.  So  in  silence  Mr.  Hillson  left  the 
room. 

Big  Frank  Stapleton  went  to  the  window,  and  by  some 
unaccountably  sudden  cold  in  the  head,  was  busy  blowing 
his  nose.  Several  of  the  others  tried  hard  to  look  uncon- 
cernedly out  of  the  windows — and  failed  miserably,  while 
others  sat  in  more  or  less  disconsolate  attitudes  at  their 
desks  or  on  the  table. 

"Say,  boys,  there's  the  carriage !  The  idea  of  us  staying 
here,  and  hot  seeing  him  off !" 

"Why,  of  course  !  What  are  we  thinking  about  ?"  said 
Stapleton.  The  tension  of  the  emotion  was  thus  broken. 
The  boys,  a  moment  before  so  affected  by  the  parting  from 


68  A  MOTHER'S   MEMORY. 

their  friend,  were  now  all  animation.  Rushing  downstairs 
to  the  yard,  they  soon  collected  all  the  boys  at  the  front 
entrance  to  the  college. 

After  a  few  minutes  the  front  door  was  opened  and 
the  venerable  President  appeared,  warmly  shaking  Mr. 
Hillson's  hand.  They  both  stepped  outside  and  then  the 
late  prefect  saw  the  whole  college  gathered  in  front  of  the 
steps.  For  a  moment  he  appeared  about  to  withdraw  from 
the  impending  ovation. 

The  President  saw  the  motion  and  laughingly  pushed 
him  forward.  This  action  the  boys  took  as  a  sanction  for 
all  they  should  do.  Cheer  upon  cheer  rent  the  air.  Hats 
and  caps  were  tossed  and  the  enthusiasm  seemed  to  know 
no  bounds.  Mr.  Hillson  was  reaping  the  rewards  of  faith- 
ful service,  and  of  thousands  of  kindly  actions.  The  older 
boys  noticed  with  satisfaction  that  none  cheered  more 
loudly  nor  longer  nor  lustier  than  their  new  prefect,  Mr. 
Shalford. 


CHAPTER  VIII. 
A  MOTHER'S  MEMORY. 

"LooK  at  George  McLeod,  fellows ;  doesn't  he  seem  to 
be  badly  in  the  dumps  ?"  said  Rob  Jones  to  a  group  of  boys 
near  the  grand  stand  on  the  baseball  field. 

"He  certainly  does  look  as  if  something  were  the  mat- 
ter with  him,"  remarked  Ambrose  Bracebridge. 

"Haven't  you  heard  about  the  fuss  he  got  into  on  'first 
day'  ?"  asked  Fred  Nash,  who  was  near  by,  waiting  to  take 
his  turn  at  the  bat  in  a  scratch  game  of  ball. 


A  MOTHER'S  MEMORY.  69 

"No;  what's  the  matter?"  asked  several. 

"I  can't  tell  you  now — there!  that  fellow  is  out.  I'll 
tell  you  what  I  know  when  I  fan  out,"  and  the  speaker 
went  toward  the  home-plate. 

The  little  group,  including  Howard  Hunter  and  Claude 
Winters,  watched  McLeod  as  he  slowly  walked  alone 
along  the  mile  track  which  skirted  the  diamond.  The  boy 
looked  sad  and  disheartened.  His  cap  was  down  over  his 
eyes,  his  hands  in  his  pockets.  He  appeared  to  be  in  some 
great  trouble. 

"It's  a  pity  to  see  that  jolly  fellow  in  trouble,"  said  Rob 
Jones.  "I  wonder  what  it  can  be.  He  is,  if  I  mistake  not, 
a  sodalist,  and  even  a  minor  officer,  censor  or  something 
of  that  sort.  I  wonder  what  is  the  matter  with  him." 

"I'm  surprised  you  fellows  haven't  heard  about  the 
scrape  he  got  into,"  said  Nash,  who  had  promptly  fanned 
out  according  to  his  own  predictions,  "but  as  you  live  so 
much  in  your  furnished  apartments — you  Philosophers — 
of  course  you  don't  hear  half  that  is  going  on  in  the  yards." 

"Humph  !  I'd  like  to  know  who  stays  more  in  'Hillson's 
parlor'  than  you  do,  Nash,"  said  Winters.  "But  anyway, 
tell  us  all  about  McLeod,  there's  a  good  fellow." 

"It  is  pretty  serious,  I  believe,"  said  Nash.  "He  came 
here  this  year  a  day  ahead  of  time." 

"That  wouldn't  make  him  so  blue  "  interrupted  Winters. 

"Just  wait,  can't  you,  for  what  I  have  to  say.  He  came 
ahead  of  time,  as  I  say,  and  was  allowed  to  go  where  he 
liked  until  the  crowd  came.  Well,  in  the  morning  of  your 
arrival  he  went  into  town  and  came  back  acting  very 
strangely.  Father  Lovelace  saw  him  and  demanded  an 
explanation,  which  he  refused  to  give — there  was  some 
trouble.  That's  all  I  know." 


70  A  MOTHER'S  MEMORY. 

"Pshaw !  You  are  a  great  story-teller !  That  doesn't 
explain  much,"  said  Winters. 

"Well,  if  you  want  further  information,  you  had  better 
go  and  ask  Mr.  Silverton,  the  division  prefect.  I've  told 
you  all  I  know." 

Winters  did  not  seek  the  division  prefect,  nevertheless 
Mr.  Silverton  was  puzzled.  Rarely  had  he  met  a  boy  that 
he  could  not  manage.  There  was  a  harshness  and  an  un- 
manageableness  about  McLeod  he  could  not  understand. 
The  lad's  character  was  an  enigma  to  him,  and  it  was  not 
for  two  or  three  weeks  after  the  above  conversation  had  oc- 
curred that  he  discovered  the  key.  George  was  a  bright, 
intelligent,  and  generally  well-behaved  boy.  He  was 
always  well  and  neatly  dressed.  He  had  a  fine  clear  skin 
and  well-cut  features.  Owing  to  somewhat  weak  sight, 
he  wore  eye-glasses.  He  was  thirteen  years  old  and  he 
had  been  at  St.  Cuthbert's  one  year. 

Notwithstanding  his  really  prepossessing  appearance 
there  was  evidence  of  a  hardness,  amounting  almost  to 
cynicism  in  the  boy's  character,  which  caused  no  little 
anxiety  at  home  and  at  college. 

His  father  was  wealthy,  to  a  large  extent  over-indul- 
gent, and  had  allowed  George  to  have  his  own  way.  He 
had  permitted  him  to  attend  a  public  school  in  a  fashion- 
able locality  for  two  years.  Perceiving,  at  length,  that  his 
character  was  not  being  developed  in  the  right  direction, 
Mr.  McLeod  had  sent  him  to  St.  Cuthbert's,  where, 
although  a  big  boy  for  his  age,  he  was  placed  under  the 
care  of  Mr.  Silverton  in  the  junior  division. 

Upon  his  arrival  the  newcomer  was  placed  in  the  Third 
Academic  class,  where  he  was  to  begin  the  study  of  Latin. 
It  was  soon  evident  that  the  new  scholar  was  hard  to  man- 


A  MOTHER'S  MEMORY.  71 

age.  After  the  novelty  of  being  at  a  new  school  and 
among  a  set  of  boys  who  were  strangers  to  him  had  worn 
off,  George  McLeod  began  to  give  trouble.  Very  often 
the  teacher  sent  him  from  the  class-room  to  the  prefect 
of  studies  for  punishment  for  some  grave  misdemeanor. 
Time  and  time  again  it  was  found  that  the  youngster,  in- 
stead of  going  to  the  office  of  that  dread  functionary,  had 
quietly  slipped  out  of  the  yard  and  spent  the  hour  on  his 
back  watching  the  clouds,  under  the  trees  in  the  blue 
grass. 

Mr.  Silverton  was  not  a  believer  in  the  doctrine  of  total 
depravity.  He  had  the  happy  faculty  of  finding  out  and 
cultivating  the  best  side  of  a  boy's  character.  He  studied 
each  boy.  Precisely  because  of  the  dangerous  tendencies 
already  more  or  less  developed  in  this  case,  he  made  an 
especial  study  of  George  McLeod. 

"I  do  not  like  the  boy's  hardness  of  face,  nor  that 
frequent  cynical  shrug  of  the  shoulder,  especially  in  one 
so  young,"  the  prefect  said  to  his  assistant ;  "but  there  is 
one  hope  left.  The  boy,  this  year,  has  joined  the  First 
Communion  class.  It  is  quite  late  for  him,  but  you  know 
he  has  been  to  a  public  school  for  some  time.  I  suppose 
his  father  was  careless  about  the  matter.  I  hope  his  First 
Communion  will  solve  the  difficulty." 

"I  am  told,  George,  that  you  have  joined  the  First  Com- 
munion class,"  he  said,  as  the  boy  came  up. 

"Yes,  sir." 

"That's  good.  Now  we  may  hope  for  an  improvement, 
eh?" 

The  boy  was  silent.  He  would  make  no  promise.  Sev- 
eral weeks  passed  from  the  time  of  Nash's  remarks  on  the 
ball-field  and  there  appeared  little  difference  in  George's 


72  A  MOTHER'S  MEMORY. 

conduct.  As  the  time  for  the  great  event  approached,  Mr. 
Silverton  spoke  earnestly  to  the  boy.  He  ended  by  saying : 

"Now  listen,  George.  You  must  know  that  it  is  simply 
impossible  for  you  to  go  on  in  this  way  and  to  think  you 
will  be  allowed  to  make  your  First  Communion." 

The  warning  had  a  good  effect.  For  several  days  his 
professor  and  Mr.  Silverton  saw,  or  at  least  they  thought 
they  saw,  an  improvement.  Giving  the  boy  every  benefit 
of  every  doubt,  as  well  as  relying  on  the  effects  which 
the  First  Communion  would  produce,  the  President 
decided  to  allow  McLeod  to  make  it  with  the  rest  of  the 
class. 

A  holiday  was  granted  to  the  First  Communion  class 
on  the  Monday  following,  the  boys  being  permitted  to 
attend  an  early  Mass,  in  order  to  spend  a  long  day  in  the 
woods. 

On  the  Tuesday  morning,  the  day  after  the  holiday, 
during  the  students'  Mass,  Mr.  Silverton  was  very  much 
surprised  to  see  George  McLeod  and  his  friend  Bruce 
Goodwin  engage  in  an  animated  whispered  conversation 
during  the  whole  time  of  Mass,  interspersed  not  infre- 
quently with  snickering  and  suppressed  giggling. 

Not  wishing  to  publicly  humiliate  a  boy  so  soon  after 
his  First  Communion  by  making  him  stand  out  in  the  aisle 
for  the  rest  of  the  Mass,  the  prefect  caught  George's  eye, 
and  by  a  glance  conveyed  the  unspoken  reproof.  The 
effect  was  instantaneous,  but  transitory.  The  whispering 
was  resumed  almost  immediately. 

"Wait  for  me  outside,"  said  Mr.  Silverton,  as  the  two 
delinquents  were  leaving  the  chapel.  The  boys  remained 
in  the  yard.  Bruce  Goodwin  touched  his  hat  and  looked 
ashamed  and  sheepish  as  the  prefect  came  up  to  him. 


A   MOTHER'S  MEMORY.  73 

George  McLeod  stood  with  his  hands  behind  his  back, 
with  that  detestable  half-leer  on  his  face,  so  incongruous 
in  one  so  young. 

"I  am  very  sorry,  George,  to  see  such  conduct  at  Mass, 
so  soon  after  the  great  event  of  last  Sunday,  too.  What 
does  it  all  mean  ?" 

"What's  the  matter,  sir?" 

"Matter !  You  know  well  enough  to  what  I  refer — 
your  conduct  at  Mass  this  morning.  Is  this  the  way  a 
First  Communicant  should  act?" 

"You  didn't  say  anything — 

"No,  because  I  did  not  want  to  disgrace  you.  I  wanted 
to  save  you  the  shame  of  being  publicly  punished  in  chapel 
so  soon  after  the  great  event  of  your  life.  As  it  is,  those 
who  saw  you  are  much  shocked." 

The  curl  on  the  boy's  lips  became  harder.  There  was 
a  nasty  gray  look  in  his  eyes.  Mr.  Silverton  sighed  as  he 
saw  his  words  had  little  effect. 

"Last  Sunday,"  he  continued,  "should  have  been,  and 
was,  a  turning-point  in  your  life.  Before  that  time  you 
were  considered  to  be  more  or  less  only  a  little  animal, 
moved  by  instinct  rather  than  reason.  When  one  has 
made  his  First  Communion  he  must  begin  to  think — to 
allow  his  reason  to  control  his  actions.  He  is  no  longer 
irresponsible.  If  you  were  ignorant  this  morning  at  Mass 
there  might  have  been  some  excuse,  but  you  are  suffi- 
ciently instructed  to  know  that  during  the  Holy  Sacrifice, 
Jesus  Christ  is  present  on  the  altar.  You  know  this,  do 
you  not?" 

"Yes,  sir." 

"Well,  then,  you  deserve  punishment  for  your  irrever- 
ence ;  so,  after  breakfast,  both  of  you  will  bring  your  Latin 


74  A  MOTHER'S   MEMOR7. 

grammars.  George,  you  will  stand  at  that  post  there,  and, 
Bruce,  you  take  the  second  one." 

The  prefect  told  them  to  learn  a  table  of  declensions 
and  decline  a  number  of  adjectives,  having  found  out  they 
were  behind  their  class  in  the  perfect  knowledge  of  these. 

During  the  day  Mr.  Silverton  noticed  that  McLeod  had 
not  attempted  to  learn  his  penance,  but  for  the  most  part 
of  the  time  had  stood  literally  "at  his  post"  with  his  book 
defiantly  closed  and  under  his  arm.  Bruce  Goodwin  had 
made,  at  least,  an  attempt  to  learn  something.  After  class, 
in  the  morning,  George  followed  his  usual  tactics.  Of 
course,  he  spent  the  usual  half-holiday  of  Tuesday  in  the 
yard.  Wednesday  passed  in  the  same  manner.  Thursday 
half-holiday  approached,  yet  the  boy  had  made  no  prog- 
ress. 

The  prefect  began  to  fear  it  was  a  case  of  obstinate 
refusal,  which  would  probably  cut  short  his  college  career. 
Having  determined  to  take  plenty  of  time  before  acting, 
he  waited  until  Friday.  During  the  recess  on  that  day, 
which  was  a  wet  day,  George  was  stationed  in  the  corridor, 
having  for  company  his  unwelcome  Latin  grammar. 

Much  to  his  regret,  the  prefect  noticed  all  the  time  on 
the  face  of  McLeod  that  cold,  hard,  obstinate  sneer,  which 
gave  such  little  hope  of  a  change  of  sentiment.  In  the 
evening  before  study  time,  Mr.  Silverton  spoke  to  the  boy. 

"Well,  George,  do  you  know  any  of  your  penance  ?" 

"No." 

"What's  that?" 

"No— sir." 

"Do  you  mean  to  learn  it  ?" 

George  merely  raised  his  chin  and  shrugged  his  shoul- 
ders. 


A   MOTHER'S  MEMORY.  75 

"What  does  that  mean?  You  do  not  think  I  am  trying 
to  be  revenged  on  you  ?" 

"No,  sir,"  came  the  answer,  quickly. 

"You  know  what  your  penance  was  given  for?" 

"For  cutting  up  during  Mass." 

"Cutting  up,  as  you  call  it — yes,  that  was  it.  Do  you 
not  think  the  penance  was  well  deserved?" 

"I  don't  know  that  I  did  much — "  and  the  young  and 
withal  handsome  face,  looked  more  defiant  than  ever. 

"Oh,  George,  George !  this  from  a  well-instructed  boy 
who  has  just  made  his  First  Communion!  You  don't 
know  that  you  did  much !  And  yet  you  behaved  in  that 
manner  before  the  Blessed  Sacrament !" 

He  paused.  McLeod  merely  gave  another  shrug  of  his 
shoulders. 

"But  think,  my  lad,  think  of  the  kind  of  conduct  you 
are  guilty  of.  And  then,  what  would  you  think  of  your- 
self if  your  mother  were  to  see  all  this?" 

Suddenly  there  came  a  change  which  fairly  electrified 
the  prefect — a  scene  such  as  but  few  men  engaged  in  edu- 
cational pursuits  see  once  in  their  lives. 

Without  a  moment's  warning  the  little  fellow  burst  into 
a  loud  passion  of  sobs  and  tears.  Tears  flowed  in  streams 
down  his  cheeks.  He  hid  his  face  in  his  hands,  giving  way 
to  a  perfect  abandon  of  grief. 

"Oh,  oh,  for  her  sake,  don't  mention  her !  Perhaps 
you  don't  know,  but  she  is  dead — dead — and  I  can't  bear 
any  one  to  mention  her  name — don't — don't — don't !" 

Mr.  Silverton  was  unwontedly  affected.  Had  the  cir- 
cumstances been  different  he  probably  would  have  mingled 
his  tears  of  sympathy  with  those  of  the  weeping  boy,  for 
the  more  or  less  uncongenial  work  of  the  disciplinarian 


76  A  MOTHER'S  MEMORY. 

had  not  dried  up  within  him  the  well-spring  of  a  warm 
heart.  He  saw,  with  joy,  that  he  had  struck  the  right 
note  by  which  he  could  reach  the  boy  and  touch  his  better 
nature.  He  saw,  also,  that  now  he  had  an  instrument  in 
his  hands  with  which  he  could  break  through  the  crust  of 
coldness  and  apparent  cynicism,  which,  after  all,  could  be 
only  very  superficial  in  one  so  young. 

"Oh,  don't  mention  her,  sir ;  I  can't  stand  it !"  continued 
McLeod,  between  his  now  really  pitiful  sobs. 

"Come,  come,  my  boy;  this  is  only  sentiment  after  all. 
I  am  aware  that  your  mother  is  dead,  and,  as  we  both  be- 
lieve, now  in  heaven.  Why  should  that  prevent  us  speak- 
ing of  her?" 

"No,  no,  no,  no,  don't !  I  can't  bear  it !" 
•"But  still  I  insist.  Your  grief  shows  how  much  you 
love  her.  Well,  then,  show  your  love  for  her  by  doing 
what  is  right  and  what  you  know  would  please  her  were 
she  here — show  her  that  you  love  her  still  by  doing  your 
duty  now." 

There  was  a  suddeji  pause  in  the  sobbing  while  the  boy 
looked  straight  into  the  prefect's  face. 

"I  never  looked  at  it  in  that  way !" 

"That's  the  best  way  to  look  at  it,  my  child.  Love  con- 
sists more  in  actions  than  in  words." 

Eagerly  the  boy  snatched  the  book  from  the  window- 
sill,  and,  even  while  drying  his  eyes  with  his  coat-sleeve, 
began  in  earnest  to  learn  the  lesson. 

Mr.  Silverton  stood  watching  the  now  transformed  boy, 
who  sobbed  at  intervals — the  last  soughs  of  the  storm 
that  was  passed — from  the  excess  of  his  recent  strong 
emotion. 

And  that  face !    All  the  hard  lines  were  gone  out  of  it. 


A  MOTHER'S  MEMORY.  77 

Once  more  it  looked  natural  in  its  young,  innocent  beauty. 
The  enthusiastic  trainer  of  youth  thanked  the  Sacred 
Heart  for  the  victory,  for  he  knew  the  hard  lines  in  the 
face,  the  sneer,  the  incipient  "toughness"  of  character  had 
gone  forever — melted  out  of  the  little  fellow's  nature  by 
the  alchemy  of  love's  tears. 

Mr.  Silverton  was  on  the  point  of  forgiving  the  boy  his 
penance,  but  his  experience  told  him  that  would  be  folly. 
With  a  few  kind  words  he  left  George  McLeod  in  the 
corridor,  now  hard  and  earnestly  studying  his  task.  Com- 
ing back  within  an  hour  the  prefect  asked : 

"Well,  George,  do  you  know  any  of  the  lesson  yet?" 
Without  answering,  the  boy  simply  offered  him  the  book, 
beginning  at  once  to  repeat.  Three  or  four  nouns  were 
well  learned.  It  was  evident  there  had  been  an  honest 
effort  to  do  something. 

"Very  good ;  that's  a  good  start.  At  this  rate  you  will 
soon  be  able  to  decline  the  last  adjective  on  your  list. 
To-night  you  must  try  to  learn  as  much  of  your  penance  as 
you  can.  We  will  get  it  off  our  hands  as  soon  as  may 
be." 

On  Saturday  morning  the  back  of  the  penance  was 
broken.  What  was  better,  George  McLeod  was  himself 
again.  All  his  naturally  open,  ingenuous  nature  was  bud- 
ding out  afresh. 

Poor  boy !  Deprived  of  a  mother's  gentle  care  when  he 
needed  it  most,  for  three  years  he  had  kept  her  sacred 
memory  green  in  his  heart.  This,  in  spite  of  untoward 
circumstances,  had  safeguarded  him.  Although  he  had 
acquired  a  certain  exterior  un-Catholic  demeanor,  yet  the 
memory  of  her  love  and  her  training  had  had  their  effect. 
Beneath  all  it  had  kept  the  young  heart  fresh.  What 


78  A  MOTHER'S  MEMORY. 

may  not  a  mother's  love  accomplish?  How  foolish  the 
boy  who  neglects  it ! 

After  class  on  Saturday  afternoon,  the  boy  came  to  the 
prefect.  He  respectfully  touched  his  cap,  saying: 

"Mr.  Silverton,  I  have  a  great  favor  to  ask." 

"Well,  George,  what  can  I  do  for  you  ?" 

"The  President,  who  had  our  First  Communion  class, 
told  us  that  we  should  go  to  Holy  Communion  on  the 
Sunday  after  our  First  Communion,  for  our  parents.  He 
asked  us  to  remember  him,  as  well." 

"Yes?" 

"Now,  sir,  if  I  go  to  Holy  Communion  to-morrow,  I 
shall  have  to  go  to  confession  now.  Would  you,  therefore, 
excuse  me  my  penance  for  to-night  ?  I  think  I  shall  finish 
it  by  Monday." 

"Certainly,  I'll  do  that.  So  you  are  going  to  Holy 
Communion  again  to-morrow  ?  Then  let  me  recommend 
to  you  a  very  special  intention.  Fervently  ask  our  divine 
Lord,  when  you  receive  Him,  to  give  you  the  grace  to 
behave  always  with  proper  reverence  at  Mass  and  Bene- 
diction, and,  in  fact,  every  time  you  enter  a  church  where 
the  Blessed  Sacrament  is  reserved.  Ask  it  not  only  for 
the  present,  but  that  it  may  remain  with  you  for  your 
whole  life.  Did  you  ever  observe,  George,  how  very  few 
men  are  really  reverential  toward  the  Blessed  Sacrament 
— and  yet  their  case  is  not  like  yours,  arising  from  boy- 
ish thoughtlessness,  but  from  a  kind  of  criminal  negli- 
gence. And,  of  course,  I  would  not  object  if  you  were  to 
remember  me  also  in  your  Holy  Communion  to-morrow." 

"Why,  sure,  sir;  I'll  remember  you  and  pray  ever  so 
hard  for  you,  too." 

The  penance  was  finished  on  the  Monday.    The  boy  was 


A.  MOTHER'S  MEMORY.  79 

a  changed  boy.  There  now  existed  a  perfect  understanding 
between  him  and  Mr.  Silverton.  Many  and  beautiful  were 
the  talks  these  two  afterward  had  about  the  dear  de- 
parted mother.  Many  were  the  lasting  lessons  young 
George  McLeod  learned  from  the  enthusiastic  prefect, 
who  in  turn  learned  not  a  few  things  while  studying  the 
child. 

"How  came  you  to  mention  her,  sir?"  asked  McLeod 
about  a  month  after  Nash  had  seen  him  so  despondent  on 
the  ball-field. 

"I  really  do  not  know,  my  boy,"  was  the  answer.  "Her" 
always  meant  George's  mother  to  these  two. 

"No  one,  not  even  my  father,  ever  speaks  of  her  to  me, 
but  I  have  thought  of  her  night  and  day.  You  were  the 
only  one  who  ever  mentioned  her.  When  you  did,  I  felt 
you  had  conquered  me,  and  that  night  when  I  went  to  bed 
I  loved  you  and  felt  that  I  would  do  anything  for  you. 
How  was  it  you  came  to  mention  her,  sir  ?" 

"As  I  say,  I  really  do  not  know.  I  had  thought  of 
nearly  everything  likely  to  touch  you  and  get  you  out  of 
that  ugly  humor.  It  must  have  been  the  grace  which  you 
had  merited  by  your  First  Communion  that  caused  me  to 
say  the  right  thing  just  at  the  right  time." 

"I'll  tell  you  what  I  think  it  was,"  said  the  boy  with  that 
candor  and  confidence  which  are  found  nowhere  in  such 
perfection  between  pupils  and  teachers  as  in  Catholic  col- 
leges. "I  don't  believe  it  was  I,  nor  do  I  believe  it  was 
you,  but  I  believe  it  was  mamma  praying  for  me  in 
heaven.  I  have  never  forgotten  her  and  I  am  sure  she 
has  never  forgotten  me." 

"Doubtless  you  are  quite  correct." 


80  HOW  GRAY  TOOK  CARE  OF  HIMSELF. 

CHAPTER  IX. 

HOW  GRAY  TOOK  CARE  OF  HIMSELF. 

ABOUT  two  weeks  after  the  term  had  started,  and  when 
everything  was  quietly  dropping  into  the  regular  routine 
of  study,  of  class,  and  of  play;  when  the  professors  had 
become  fairly  acquainted  with  the  newcomers  in  each 
class,  and  when  the  prefect  had  almost  sufficient  time  to 
learn  the  tendencies  and  idiosyncrasies  of  the  boys  when  in 
the  yards,  or  field,  or  on  the  track  there  came  to  the  col- 
lege a  new  boy. 

Now,  there  is  nothing  remarkable  nor,  perhaps,  worth 
recording  in  the  fact  that  a  boy  came  two  weeks  late, 
especially  as  it  was  the  custom  at  St.  Cuthbert's  to  receive 
boys  at  any  time  during  the  first  term.  But  this  particular 
boy  had  some  peculiar  characteristics  which  for  some  time 
after  his  advent,  made  him  a  somewhat  conspicuous  per- 
sonage. He  came  on  the  last  day  of  September,  and  was 
immediately  ushered  into  the  President's  office.  That 
functionary  gave  him  a  grave  but  kindly  welcome  to  St. 
Cuthbert's.  The  boy  was  evidently  displeased  with  his 
new  surroundings. 

"What  is  your  name?"  asked  the  Father. 

"Dear  me,  don't  you  know  my  name,  Father?  Why, 
Father  Holloway,  in  our  village,  wrote  to  you  to  say  I 
was  coming." 

"Indeed !"  said  the  Rector,  amused ;  "and  how  am  I  to 
know  whether  you  are  the  boy  of  whom  he  wrote  unless 
you  tell  me  who  you  are  ?" 


HOW  GR&Y  TOOK  CARE  OF  HIMSELF.  81 

"My  name  is  Gray — John  Philip  Watkins  Gray.  The 
VVatkins  are  great  people  where  I  come  from — own  most 
of  the  land  thereabouts,  and  father's  a  justice  of  the  peace, 

too." 

"Indeed !"  said  the  priest,  still  very  much  amused,  but 
not  at  all  impressed  by  the  personage  before  him,  nor  by 
his  gratuitous  information,  "and  may  I  ask  how  far  John 
Philip  Watson  Gray  is  advanced  in  his  studies  ?" 

"Watkins,  Father,  not  Watson,  if  you  please.  Every- 
body knows  the  Watkinses  and  the  Grays  where  I  come 
from." 

"Very  likely,  my  boy,  most  likely.  But  what  do  you 
know  ?  How  far  advanced  are  you  in  studies  ?" 

"Head  of  the  school,  Father,  there.  First  in  sums,  and 
in  g'ography,  and  there  ain't  a  boy  in  the  place  that  can 
down  me  at  a  spellin'  bee." 

"Humph!  I  notice  you  haven't  given  much  attention 
to  grammar." 

"Oh,  lots.  I  know  all  the  parts  of  speech  and  can  parse 
every  word  in  the  Fifth  Reader.  I'm  wide-awake,  I  am, 
Father,  and  there  are  very  few  who  can  get  ahead  of  me, 
sure's  you're  livin'." 

The  President  gave  the  boy  a  searching  glance.  He 
took  Father  Holloway's  letter  from  a  pigeon-hole  in  his 
desk,  and  deliberately  read  it,  making  some  audible  com- 
ments as  he  did  so. 

"Yes,  doubtless, — a  good  boy — a  little  heady — not  a 
doubt  about  that — will  buy  his  experience — certainly,  and 
perhaps  dearly — untutored,  crude,  inexperienced — quite 
right,  quite  right." 

Then  he  read  in  silence  for  some  time,  paying  not  the 
slightest  attention  to  the  boy.  It  was  Gray's  first  lesson. 


82  HOW  GRAY  TOOK  CARE  OF  HIMSELF. 

He  stood  there  awkward  and  blushing,  feeling  exceedingly 
small.  Perhaps  for  the  first  time  since  he  had  entered 
his  teens  he  did  not  know  what  to  do  with  his  hands. 
Made  much  of  at  home,  the  best,  or  at  least  the  biggest 
boy  in  the  village  school,  he  had  imagined  he  was  the  cen- 
tral sun  of  his  own  little  universe.  At  home,  he  was  so. 
Now,  for  the  first  time,  he  was  away  from  home,  and  in 
the  presence  of  the  head  of  the  college,  he  did  not  feel 
half  so  important  a  person  as  he  did  when  he  left  his 
father's  house,  his  sisters  waving  their  sun-bonnets,  and 
his  father's  hired  hands  their  caps  as  he  rode  off  in 
triumph.  His  brief  hour  of  triumph  and  importance  was 
over.  He  would  not  care  for  his  sisters  to  see  him  just 
now  standing  first  on  one  leg  and  then  on  another,  twirling 
his  hat  in  as  approved  a  fashion  as  the  smallest  boy  in  the 
small  boy's  yard  could  have  done. 

The  kindly  old  President  regarded  him  with  an  amused 
twinkle  in  his  eye.  How  many  of  just  such  boys  had  he 
seen  in  his  long  career!  He  could  have  told  that  boy  what 
his  experience  would  be  at  St.  Cuthbert's  for  the  next  six 
months  with  unerring  accuracy.  He  merely  said: 

"Father  Holloway's  letter  about  you  is,  in  the  main, 
quite  satisfactory." 

Gray's  self-esteem  began  to  return.  The  only  man 
whom  he  really  feared — although  he  respected  him,  too — 
was  his  parish  priest.  He  began  to  hold  up  his  head  again. 

"Can  I  go,  then,  Father?" 

"Yes,  I  hope  you  will  be  happy  here.  Study  hard. 
Remember,  your  father  goes  to  a  considerable  expense 
to  send  you  here." 

"Oh,  my  father's  well  off.  He  has  seven  hundred  acres 
of  land,  and  the  Watkinses — " 


HOW  GRAY  TOOK  CARE  OF  HIMSELF.  83 

"That's  not  the  question,  boy,"  said  the  President, 
sternly.  "Your  father  has  not  money  to  throw  away  on  a 
worthless  son  who  idles  away  his  time." 

Changing  his  tone  he  added  : 

"But  it  is  not  fair  to  suppose  you  will  do  this.  Be  a 
good  boy  and  you  will  get  along.  Come  and  see  me  when- 
ever you  like." 

The  boy  turned  to  go. 

"Wait  one  minute,  Gray.  This  is  the  first  time  you  have 
ever  been  among  a  large  crowd  of  boys.  You  will  prob- 
ably find  some  who  are  fond  of  practical  jokes.  Beware 
of  them.  Be  on  your  guard.  Sometimes  these  jokes  lead 
to  unpleasant  consequences." 

"Don't  fear  for  me,  Father,"  answered  the  boy.  "I 
would  like  to  see  any  fellow  who  could  catch  me.  I'm 
wide-awake,  I  am.  I  know  a  thing  or  two." 

The  President  merely  smiled.  With  a  wave  of  the  hand 
he  dismissed  him.  The  first  person  Gray  met  in  the  yard 
was  Mr.  Shalford. 

"New  boy,  eh  ?  Glad  to  see  you.  Hope  you'll  soon  feel 
at  home.  What  class?  Third  Commercial,  eh?  Very 
good.  If  you  want  to  get  along  you  have  to  work  hard 
and  keep  the  rules.  If  you  don't  do  the  first — why,  home 
you  go,  and  if  you  don't  do  the  second — well,  there's 
trouble,  see?" 

"I  guess  I  know  all  about  that,  sir." 

"Glad  you  do ;  glad  you  do." 

"The  head  of  this  institution  told  me  just  about  the 
same  thing.  Guess  you  people  are  mighty  strong  on  these 
points." 

"Pretty  strong,  I  assure  you." 

By  this  time  Mr.  Shalford  had  seen  through  the  boy 


84  HOW  GRAY  TOOK  CARE  OF  HIMSELF. 

fairly  well.  He,  too,  most  probably  saw  what  was  in 
store  for  him. 

"By  the  way,  what's  your  name?" 

"John  Philip  Watkins  Gray." 

"Phew!  Say,  you  had  better  drop  half  that  here.  I 
advise  you  to  do  so.  It's  too  big  to  carry  around  here. 
Better  call  yourself  Gray,  or  John  Gray.  You  must 
excuse  me.  I  could  never  think  of  all  those  names.  Life's 
too  short." 

"But  the  Watkinses  are  big  people  at  home.  They  own 
nearly  all  the  land  in — " 

"Of  course,  of  course.  But,  my  dear  boy,  don't  you  see, 
the  boys  here  won't  care  one  red  herring  about  that,  and 
they'll  make  no  end  of  jokes  on  you,  see?  Look  here, 
Gray,  better  look  out  for  tricks.  Some  of  the  boys  might 
consider  you  a  good  subject  for  experimentation." 

"That's  just  what  the  boss  said." 

"Who?" 

"I  mean  the  head  man  here.  What  do  you  call  him — 
the  President.  That's  just  what  he  said,  but  I  guess  I  can 
take  care  of  myself  well  enough." 

"Glad  to  hear  you  say  so,  but  if  anything  happens,  please 
do  not  say  I  did  not  warn  you.  Hello !  here  come  the  boys 
from  the  class-rooms.  Clavering,  show  this  boy  around 
and  introduce  him  to  some  of  the  Commercial  boys  ?" 

It  took,  as  the  boys  say,  "no  time  at  all"  for  them  to 
discover  all  the  good  as  well  as  the  bad  traits  of  Gray. 
Boys  are  quick  to  learn  one's  foibles.  The  very  first  even- 
ing in  the  study-hall,  an  opportunity  occurred  by  which 
those  near  him  could  test  Gray's  capacity  of  taking  care 
of  himself.  It  happened  that  the  electric  bulb  just  over 
Gray's  desk  was  dark. 


HOW  GRAY  TOOK  CARE  OF  HIMSELF.       85 

"Let's  see  what  he  will  do,"  whispered  a  boy  to  his 
neighbor.  Then  turning  to  Gray  he  said : 

"Say,  sonny,  here's  a  match;  just  light  up  that  bulb,  will 
you  ?" 

-  The  boy  who  "could  take  care  of  himself"  struck  the 
match  on  the  sole  of  his  shoe  and  held  it  up  to  the  bulb 
while  he  peered  and  peered  for  a  hole  into  which  to  insert 
the  burning  piece  of  wood.  He  knew  nothing  of  using  the 
key  to  turn  on  the  current.  He  stood  there  puzzled  until 
the  match  burned  his  fingers.  There  was  a  general  titter 
through  the  study-hall.  The  professor  who  was  keeping 
studies  walked  up  to  the  boy  and  whispered: 

"Sit  down ;  go  on  with  your  work,"  and  then  turned  on 
the  current. 

Secretly,  during  that  hour  of  study,  a  note  travelled 
to  almost  every  desk  bearing  the  following  legend : 

"Question.    What  color  is  Gray?    Answer.    Green." 

Innumerable  were  the  tricks  and  jokes  played  on  him 
during  the  recesses  between  the  evening  study-hours. 

One  night  during  this  time  it  had  been  arranged  that 
Dick  Clavering,  Roy  Henning  and  Shiller  were  to  induce 
Gray  to  go  to  the  game-room.  With  pretended  secrecy 
they  were  to  engage  in  a  game  of  cards.  As  soon  as 
they  saw  their  plan  would  work,  Fred  Nash  ran  up 
to  the  sacristy  and  secured  a  server's  cassock  and  a  black 
beretta. 

The  others  in  the  plan  were  to  be  sure  to  have  the  light 
in  the  game-room  turned  only  moderately  high.  They 
were  to  pretend  there  was  great — extremely  great — danger 
of  being  caught.  They  were  to  impress  upon  Gray  the 
necessity  of  caution,  and  to  tell  him  that  Mr.  Shalford 
was  simply  "death"  on  card-playing,  especially  in  the 


86       nOW  GRAY  TOOK  CARE  OF  HIMSELF. 

game-room,  and  more  especially  during  recess  at  night, 
and  then  to  dare  Gray  to  run  all  risks. 

"He  bites;  in  fact,  he  has  swallowed  the  bait  whole," 
whispered  Shiller  to  Nash.  Nash  gave  himself  plenty  of 
time  to  put  on  the  soutane  in  the  dark  passage  outside  the 
game-room.  It  was  arranged  that  Gray  was  to  be  seated 
with  his  back  to  the  door.  A  loud  cough  from  one  of  the 
players  was  to  be  the  signal  for  Nash  to  make  his  quasi- 
prefectorial  raid.  Nash  was  not  well  known  to  Gray. 

"Who  said  Gray  was  afraid?"  said  Clavering.  as  he 
shuffled  the  cards. 

"You  may  just  bet  I'm  afraid  of  nothing  in  this  place," 
boasted  John  Philip  Watkins  Gray.  "Old  Shalford  cairt 
catch  me  in  a  hurry." 

"Not  even  on  electric  lights,"  remarked  Shiller,  mis- 
chievously. 

"Oh,  give  us  a  rest  on  that.  How  is  a  fellow  to  know 
everything  ?" 

"Of  course  he  isn't,  and  doesn't,"  answered  Clavering, 
but  Gray  did  not  perceive  the  thrust.  "But,  my  gracious, 
if  Shalford  should  catch  us!  Phew!  No  more  conduct 
cards  for  the  rest  of  the  year.  No  more  baseball  nor 
football  for  any  of  us.  Not  allowed  to  go  to  any  of  the 
Christmas  plays.  In  jug  for  three  months,  and  perhaps 
expulsion  would  be  the  least  he  would  give  us." 

Gray,  not  perceiving  the  exaggeration,  began  to  realize 
in  some  degree  what  he  considered  the  danger  of  his  posi- 
tion. The  consequence  was  that  there  was  a  little  paleness 
around  his  lips  and  his  hand  was  not  perfectly  steady  as 
he  held  his  cards.  Secretly  he  wished  himself  out  of 
it.  What  would  Father  Holloway  say  if  he  were  sent 
home! 


BOW  GRAY  TOOK  CARE  OF  HIMSELF.       87 

"Then,  card-playing  here,"  continued  Clavering,  relent- 
lessly, "may  be  punished  by  corporal  punishment — in  fact 
a  sound  thrashing  from  Father  Lovelace  or  his  deputy." 

Beads  of  perspiration  stood  out  on  Gray's  forehead.  He 
felt  uncomfortably  warm  under  the  collar.  His  hand  be- 
came more  unsteady.  Just  then  Clavering  coughed  loudly 
two  or  three  times. 

"Cave!  You'll  give  us  away  with  your  cough,"  said 
Shiller.  "Look  out !  Here's  some  one  coming,"  as  he 
heard  the  door  knob  squeak.  Suddenly  the  bogus  prefect 
opened  the  door  and  stood  behind  Gray's  chair. 

"What  is  this?"  said  Nash,  in  a  well-disguised  voice. 
"Cards!  Why  will  you  boys  get  into  trouble?  What  do 
you  mean  by  this  conduct,  Gray?" 

"I— I— didn't  mean— I—" 

"Nonsense.  You  did  mean,  or  you  wouldn't  be  here. 
Mr.  Shalford  or  the  President  may  send  you  boys  home 
for  this.  I'll  do  what  I  can  to  prevent  that.  You  three 
boys  bring  your  Latin  text-book  to  me  to-morrow  morn- 
ing before  breakfast.  You,  Gray,  will  write  out  'I  will  not 
play  cards  any  more,'  five  hundred  times  and  give  the 
lines  to  me  before  nine  o'clock." 

The  imitation  prefect  then  left  the  room  in  a  hurry, 
shouting  in  the  passage  to  some  imaginary  boys : 

"Make  less  noise  there,  you  boys ;  make  less  noise." 

"I  guess  we  are  in  for  it  now,"  said  Clavering,  with  a 
very  long  face,  which  he  assumed  to  perfection. 

"Will  he  send  us  home  ?"  asked  the  frightened  Gray. 

"It  is  most  probable  he  will  not,  at  least,  if  your  lines 
are  done  by  half  past  eight,"  answered  Shiller.  "I  should 
recommend  you  to  get  at  them  at  once.  Don't  let  the 
study-keeper  catch  you  writing  them  next  hour,  for  if 


83       HOW  ORA?  TOOK  CARE  OF  HIMSELF. 

he  does  he  will  double  them,  and  then  you  couldn't  save 
us." 

During  last  recess  that  night,  and  even  before  Mass  the 
next  morning,  and  then  after  breakfast,  steadily  until  about 
twenty  minutes  to  nine  did  Gray  work  at  those  lines. 

"They  are  done  in  time,  anyway,"  he  said,  at  length. 
Carrying  seven  or  eight  large  sheets  of  paper  closely 
written  on  both  sides  he  went  to  find  Mr.  Shalford. 

"They  are  done  in  time,  sir,"  said  the  unconscious  dupe 
who  could  take  care  of  himself.  It  was  a  curious  coin- 
cidence that  Henning,  Shiller,  and  Clavering  should  just 
at  that  moment  be  on  the  spot. 

"Dear  me !    What's  this,  what's  this  ?" 

"The  penance,  sir ;  and  I  hope  you  won't  send  us  home 
this  time." 

"Send  you  home !  Why — "  but  his  eye  caught  the  first 
line,  "I  won't  play  cards  any  more,"  and  he  checked  him- 
self. 

"Umph !    Who  gave  you  this  penance  ?" 

"The  tall  prefect.  I  don't  know  his  name,  sir.  He 
caught  us  last  night." 

"The  tall  prefect?  Was  it  the  second  prefect  in  this 
yard  ?  See,  he  stands  over  there,  look." 

"No,  sir ;  not  he." 

"Was  it  Mr.  Silverton?" 

"No,  sir." 

"Nor  the  other  prefect  of  the  junior  division?" 

"No,  sir;  I  know  him,  too.  It  was  one  I  don't  know. 
What  is  his  name,  Clavering?" 

Clavering  was  conveniently  deaf  just  at  that  moment 

"And  I  hope,  sir,  we  shall  not  be  thrashed." 

This  was  too  much  for  the  three  conspirators.     They 


HOW  GRAY  TOOK  CARE  OF  HIMSELF.       89 

burst  into  loud  laughter  and  scattered  across  the  yard,  as 
they  held  their  sides.  Then  Mr.  Shalford  understood. 

''Gray." 

"Yes,  sir." 

"Didn't  you  assure  me  that  you  could  take  care  of 
yourself?" 

"Yes,  sir." 

"Do  you  think  you  can  ?" 

"Yes,  sir,"  came  the  response  promptly. 

"Then  let  me  tell  you  you  can  do  no  such  thing.  See 
that  group  of  boys  over  there  all  laughing  ?  You  may  rest 
assured  that  you  will  find  the  supposed  prefect  among 
them.  They  have  fooled  you  most  egregiously." 

"You — don't — say,"  said  the  astonished  Gray.  "But  he 
who  caught  me  wore  a  cassock  like  yours." 

"You  dear  simpleton !  Do  not  the  boys  who  serve  Mass 
wear  cassocks,  and  are  there  not  dozens  of  them  in  the 
sacristy  ?  Go  and  tell  those  boys  I  want  them." 

The  four  boys  came,,  not  knowing  exactly  what  to 
expect. 

"That  was  good,  more  or  less,  but  listen.  Don't — do — 
it — again." 

The  boys  understood  thoroughly. 

"I  guess  the  joke  was  on  me,  boys.  Come,  let's  go  to 
the  store  and  get  some  candies." 

The  boys  liked  the  way  their  dupe  took  the  fooling,  but 
John  Philip  Watkins  Gray  was  not  yet  completely  cured. 
Some  boys  require  more  experience  than  others.  Gray 
required  a  great  deal. 


90  CLAUDE'S   LETTER. 


CHAPTER  X. 

CLAUDE'S  LETTER. 

THE  letter  which  Claude  Winters  wrote  to  his  father 
describing  the  sudden  disappearance  of  his  brother  on  the 
day  of  his  arrival  at  St.  Cuthbert's  and  the  mysterious  way 
he  was  discovered  in  the  Bishop's  room,  remained  unan- 
swered for  more  than  two  weeks. 

He,  as  well  as  Ernest,  had  received  letters  from  their 
mother  and  from  their  sister  Laura  in  the  meantime,  but 
no  mention  was  made  of  Claude's  first  letter,  nor  had  Mr. 
Winters  written  a  line. 

Thinking  it  somewhat  strange  that  he  should  receive  no 
word  from  his  father,  ten  days  after  the  first  letter  Claude 
sent  off  another,  again  stating  all  the  circumstances  of  the 
disappearance  and  return  of  his  brother. 

After  dinner,  on  the  day  following  the  successful  ruse 
played  on  Gray,  the  boys  were,  as  usual,  clustered  around 
the  prefect  at  mail-time.  They  stood  in  a  solid  mass, 
resembling  a  swarm  of  bees  resting  after  a  long  flight. 

The  distribution  of  the  mail  at  college  is  an  anxious  five 
minutes  to  every  boy.  Eager  eyes  watch  the  big  handful 
as  it  grows  smaller  and  smaller.  The  lucky  recipients  of 
letters  saunter  off  with  a  contented  smile.  The  less  fortu- 
nate ones  more  slowly  disperse. 

Claude  was  lucky  to-day.  At  a  glance  he  recognized  the 
handwriting  to  be  that  of  his  father.  It  did  not  take 
Claude  long  to  cross  the  yard.  Up  three  steps  at  a  time 


CLAUDE'S   LETTER.  91 

he  rushed  like  a  tornado  into  the  Philosophy  class-room, 
and  to  his  own  desk. 

"Not  at  home  for  half  an  hour,  gentlemen." 

The  others  understood.  The  expression  was  a  conven- 
tion used  when  any  one  of  the  class  wished  particularly  to 
be  let  alone.  Winters  tore  open  the  letter  in  his  usual 
impetuous  manner,  hurriedly  gave  a  glance  at  the  con- 
tents and  then  read  more  slowly. 

There  was  news  from  all.  Mamma  was  poorly.  Laura 
was  not  very  bright.  The  writer  believed  she  was  pining 
for  her  little  brother  Ernest,  but  she  would  soon  get  over 
being  without  him.  The  parrot  talked  as  well  as  ever. 
The  cat  was  getting  fatter  and  lazier  than  ever,  etc.,  etc., 
etc., 

All  these  and  many  more  similar  items  Claude  read 
hurriedly.  Ah!  here,  at  last,  was  the  matter  of  real 
interest  to  him. 

"The  disappearance  of  Ernie,  which  you  speak  of  in 
your  letter,  puzzles  me  very  much.  Except  for  one  or  two 
reasons,  which  I  cannot  mention  at  present,  I  should  be 
inclined  to  laugh  at  the  occurrence,  and  say  that  your 
brother  had  wandered  up  to  town  alone  and  then  back 
again,  and  entering  the  first  room  he  came  to,  had  fallen 
asleep  at  once  and  dreamed  all  you  tell  me  in  your  letter. 
You  know  Ernie  must  have  been  very  tirec.1  with  his  long 
journey. 

"However,  for  reasons  at  which  T  have  hinted,  I  attach 
much  more  importance  to  this  event  than  I  tan  at  present 
explain  to  you.  When  your  mother  read  your  letter  at 
breakfast  that  morning,  she  was  much  disturbed.  Upon 
inquiring  why  she  should  be  so  strangely  affected,  she 
replied  that  as  near  as  she  could  tell  it  was  just  at  the 


92  CLAUDE'S  LETTER. 

,<noment  this  was  happening  to  your  brother  she  fell  asleep 
in  her  easy-chair.  This  was  about  half  past  five  in  the 
evening.  She  had  dressed  for  dinner  early  that  day  and 
was  waiting  for  the  gong  to  sound  when  she  dozed  off. 

"When  she  was  aroused  for  dinner  she  told  me  that  she 
had  dreamed  most  vividly  that  she  saw  Ernest  in  a  room 
just  as  your  letter  describes,  and  talking  to  a  strange-look- 
ing, dark-skinned  man.  One  remarkable  feature  about  the 
affair  is  that  at  dinner  that  evening  she  talked  of  the  large 
and  wonderful  eyes  of  the  man  she  had  seen  in  her 
dream.  Then  came  your  letter  the  next  morning  corrob- 
orating the  description  she  had  given  of  the  event,  and 
especially  mentioning  Ernie's  words  about  the  man's  big 
eyes. 

"Undoubtedly  the  man  your  brother  saw  was  a 
Hindu.  I  should  attach  no  importance  to  your  mother's 
dream,  and  its  peculiar  coincidence,  were  there  not  rea- 
sons in  our  family  history  for  making  me  decidedly 
uneasy.  The  dream  and  the  attempted  abduction — for 
I  firmly  believe,  for  reasons  of  my  own,  that  there  was 
the  intention  of  abducting — of  course,  these  two  events 
occurring  simultaneously  may  have  been  a  mere  coinci- 
dence. On  the  other  hand  they  may  have  been  something 
more. 

"Now,  I  want  you,  Claude,  to  be  very  careful  at  all 
times  to  keep  away  from  every  person  who  has  any  resem- 
blance to  a  Hindu.  No  matter  on  what  occasion  you 
come  across  one,  or  what  dress  or  clothes  he  may  be  wear- 
ing, be  sure  to  keep  away  from  him.  I  have  very  strong 
reasons  for  laying  this  injunction  upon  you.  Tell  Ernest 
also  of  my  wishes  in  this  respect. 

"I  have  no  doubt,  my  boy,  that  all  this  has  already 


CLAUDE'S  LETTER.  98 

aroused  your  curiosity  to  a  very  high  pitch.  Well, 
restrain  it  for  some  time.  You  are  in  your  graduating 
year  at  St.  Cuthbert's.  After  you  have  taken  your  degree 
I  shall  be  more  free  with  you  and  shall  tell  you  many 
points  of  family  history  which  it  will  be  well  for  you  to 
know.  But  there  is  time  enough  for  these  things. 

"Of  one  thing,  however,  you  may  be  sure.  There  is 
nothing  in  all  I  have  hinted  to  you,  or  have  promised  to 
tell  in  the  future,  that  is  in  the  slightest  degree  dishonor- 
able to  yourself,  to  me,  or  to  any  member  of  the  family. 
There  is  nothing  derogatory  to  the  name  you  bear." 

"If  this  isn't  the  rummiest  letter  I  ever  received!"  said 
Claude,  when  he  had  finished.  "Howard,  come  over  here, 
will  you?" 

Howard  Hunter  came.  Looking  into  the  puzzled  face 
of  Claude,  he  asked  in  that  sympathetic  way  so  peculiarly 
his  own : 

"No  bad  news,  I  hope,  Claude?" 

"No ;  but  something  very  curious.  Read  this,  old  fel- 
low, and  tell  me  what  you  think  I  ought  to  do,"  said 
Claude  in  a  subdued  tone,  so  that  the  rest  in  the  room 
would  not  overhear. 

Hunter  began  to  read,  making  running  -comments  as  he 
proceeded. 

"Dear  me,  that's  awful  about  the  poor  parrot !  and  you 
certainly  ought  to  call  a  physician  for  that  cat.  It  might 
be  suffering  from  fatty  degeneration  of  the  heart,  you 
know.  And  poor  little  Laura !  What  shall  we  do  ?  She 
will  cry  her  eyes  out,  for  sure.  Really,  Claude,  it  would 
be  quite  serious  if  your  sister  could  only  pose  as  a  statue 
of  Justice  ever  after." 

Howard  thought,  as  Claude  had  done,  that  the  letter 


94  CLAUDE'S  LETTER. 

before  him,  which  began  in  a  commonplace  manner 
enough,  was  one  of  those  which  fond  fathers  and  mothers 
send  to  their  boys  at  school,  containing  nothing  not  domes- 
tic, and  winding  up  with  some  dozen  or  so  of  X's  for 
kisses. 

But  when  he  began  to  read  the  real  body  of  the  letter 
and  to  catch  its  drift,  he  became  serious  and  dropped  his 
bantering,  reading  the  remainder  in  silence. 

"Well,  old  fellow,  what  do  you  make  of  it  ?" 

Hunter  did  not  answer  at  once.  He  was  in  a  "brown 
study"  which  Claude  did  not  disturb.  At  length  Claude 
asked : 

"Well?" 

"It  is  all  very  curious,"  replied  the  other.  "It  is  cer- 
ta^p  there  is  some  kind  of  mystery,  which  makes  your 
father  and  mother  anxious  for  your  or  Ernie's  safety.  As 
far  as  I  can  see,  there  is  at  present  only  one  thing  to  do. 
Restrain  your  curiosity,  as  your  father  says,  until  he 
tells  you  everything,  which  he  surely  will  do  when  he 
thinks  the  proper  time  has  come." 

"I  just  tell  you  what — I  simply  cannot  wait.  Until  I 
know  this  mystery  everything  else  will  be  knocked  sky 
high  out  of  my  head.  It's  simply  impossible,  Howard ;  I 
must  write." 

Claude  wrote  that  afternoon. 

In  a  few  days  he  received  an  answer  from  his  father, 
who  wrote : 

"I  have  given  your  letter  some  close  thought.  After 
talking  it  all  over  with  mamma,  I  have  decided  to  tell 
you  everything.  This  cannot  be  done  by  letter,  so  I  will 
run  down  to  St.  Cuthbert's  and  have  a  talk  with  you.  I 
do  not  want  Ernie  to  know  of  my  coming.  Without  let- 


SOME  FAMILY  HISTORY.  95 

ting  him  know  where  you  are,  you  had  better  meet  me 
at  the  depot.  We  will  go  to  some  hotel  together.  Then 
I  can  return  home  the  same  evening.  Ernie  is  young  and 
not  very  strong.  The  information  I  am  about  to  impart 
to  you  would  perhaps  do  him  harm.  It  is  quite  certain 
it  would  do  him  no  good.  With  you  it  is  different.  You 
have  almost  arrived  at  man's  estate.  You  are  a  good  boy, 
a  manly  and  honest  boy,  and,  thanks  be  to  God,  a  pious 
boy.  So,  in  case  anything  should  happen  to  your  mother, 
I  have  thought  it  best  to  tell  you  everything.  Meet  me  at 
the  depot  when  the  early  train  arrives  next  Monday  morn- 
ing." 

Claude's  heart  beat  faster  when  he  read  his  father's 
words  of  praise  of  himself  and  he  felt  a  choking  sensation 
in  his  throat.  He  held  the  letter  up  in  front  of  his  face 
in  order  to  hide  his  emotion  from  those  in  the  room  while 
he  was  reading  it. 

His  pulse  beat  high  with  excitement  when  he  thought 
of  his  father's  visit.  He  could  hardly  wait  the  two  days 
until  Monday  when  he  was  to  learn  the  family  history. 


CHAPTER  XL 

SOME  FAMILY  HISTORY. 

"You  have  often  seen,  in  the  drawing-room  at  home," 
said  Mr.  Winters  to  his  son  Claude,  after  the  greetings 
were  over  at  the  hotel  the  following  Monday  morning, 
"that  large  oil  painting  of  a  Hindu  in  full  native  costume, 
to  whom  Ernest,  according  to  your  letter,  likened  the 
man  who  attempted  to  abduct  him,  and  who  certainly 


96  SOME  FAMILY  HISTORY. 

would  have  abducted  you  had  you  happened  to  have  been 
in  his  place.  To  this  man  whose  picture  I  keep  in  a  place 
of  honor,  I  owe  a  great  deal,  perhaps  even  my  life.  He 
protected  me  once  when  I  was  in  the  extremest  peril.  He 
protected  you,  too." 

"He  protected  me,  pa?" 

"Yes.  You  were  born  in  a  small  town  about  seventy 
miles  south  of  Simla  in  Northern  India,  nineteen  years 
ago." 

Claude  was  intensely  surprised  to  hear  this.  In  his 
heart  of  hearts  he  was  sorry  to  learn  it,  sorry  to  discover 
that  he  was  not  American  born.  He  had  always  believed 
he  was,  and  was  proud  of  being  a  native  born  American. 

"It  was  while  you  were  a  baby  in  arms,  not  yet  eighteen 
months  old,  that  the  trouble  came  which  has  made  your 
mother  a  partial  invalid  ever  since,  and  which  has  caused 
me  endless  anxiety. 

"Your  grandfather  was  an  officer  in  the  British  army 
stationed  in  India.  Some  years  before  I  married  your 
mother,  he  was  pensioned  with  full  pay  as  colonel,  owing 
to  valuable  services  rendered  to  the  crown. 

"Not  relishing — after  so  long  a  sojourn  in  India — the 
fogs  and  changeable  climate  of  England,  he  determined 
to  remain  in  the  country  where  he  had  passed  the  best 
years  of  his  life,  intending  to  enjoy  the  remainder  of  his 
days  in  peace  and  contentment. 

"He  was  stoutly,  vigorously  English  in  thought,  sym- 
pathy, and  even  in  speech,  to  the  last  day  of  his  life. 
Among  the  many  of  his  peculiarly  English  notions,  one 
was  that  of  the  importance  of  the  landed  aristocracy  and 
gentry  as  a  necessary  institution.  These  he  considered 
the  backbone  of  the  English  nation,  and  argued  that  if 


SOME  FAMILY  HISTORY.  97 

they  were  good  and  beneficial  for  England  they  should 
also  be  good  and  beneficial  for  India,  and  for  all  other 
British  possessions. 

"Imbued  with  these  notions  he  built  a  magnificent  man- 
sion, cleared  and  laid  out  a  large  and  really  beautiful 
park.  He  kept  his  hounds,  and  in  every  respect  conducted 
his  establishment  after  the  English  customs  and  tradi- 
tions,- as  near  as  the  circumstances  of  time  and  place  would 
permit. 

"When  I  married,  my  father  erected  a  second  elegant 
residence,  intended  for  me.  In  this  way,  by  gradually 
inducing  his  friends  also  to  settle  and  build  in  the  vicinity, 
he  hoped  in  a  short  time  to  establish  a  select  class  of 
Anglo-Indian  landed  gentry  in  his  neighborhood. 

"Now,  in  purchasing  property  for  the  purpose  of  laying 
out  his  park,  my  father  bought,  with  the  sanction  of  the 
government,  from  the  Rajah  or  Maharajah  of  the  district, 
some  land  on  which  stood  a  shrine  of  Vishnu  or  Siva. 

"Your  grandfather  was  a  good,  staunch  Catholic,  who, 
above  all  things,  would  have  no  compromise  in  matters 
concerning  the  faith.  You  can  easily  see,  then,  that  he 
would  not  tolerate  the  existence  of  a  pagan  temple  on  his 
property.  He  therefore  ordered  it  to  be  demolished. 

"Little  did  he  realize,  by  so  doing,  the  animosity  that 
he  had  incurred  among  the  natives.  Still  less  did  he  see 
the  whole  train  of  evils  he  was  bequeathing  to  his  kith  and 
kin.  He  incurred  the  implacable  hatred  and  deep  resent- 
ment of  the  native  Hindus. 

"My  father  entrenched  himself  behind  the  law,  for  he 
took  the  matter  into  the  English  tribunals.  It  was  a  case 
where  justice  and  equity  were  on  his  side,  but  where  also 
on  his  part,  there  was,  more  or  less,  a  want  of  prudence. 


98  SOME  FAMILY  HISTORY. 

The  judges  declared  him  to  be  correct  from  a  legal  point 
of  view.  His  own  conscience  was  sufficient  guide  from  a 
moral  standpoint.  Being  a  retired  officer  and  also  a  gen- 
eral favorite  among  officers  and  men,  he  had  no  difficulty  in 
procuring  a  small  detachment  of  soldiers  from  Simla  to 
protect  his  family  and  his  property. 

"Irrespective  of  the  necessity  for  this  protection  on 
account  of  being  a  persona  non  grgta  to  the  natives  sur- 
rounding his  estate,  there  were  other  reasons  why  a  small 
company  of  soldiers  was  a  source  of  satisfaction  to  our 
little  white  settlement. 

"Down  to  the  south  of  us,  at  Chour,  there  was  at  this 
time  a  sort  of  religious  revival  movement  among  the 
Brahmins.  I  never  learned  the  reason  of  this  movement, 
but  I  know  that  thousands  upon  thousands  of  native 
Hindus  visited  the  small  temple  there  to  the  great 
pecuniary  advantage  of  the  priests. 

"Some  kind  of  miracle  was  reported  to  have  taken 
place  here.  I  once  visited  the  temple.  A  small,  dirty,  ill- 
kept  place  it  was.  It  was  always  a  surprise  to  me  that  the 
natives  should  throng  to  visit  what  was  not  worth  seeing. 
The  only  thing  really  remarkable  there  was  a  fine  large 
diamond,  which  had  been  placed  in  the  forehead  of  the 
statue.  It  was  called  the  Learned  One's  Earthly  Sight,  or 
something  of  that  kind. 

"My  father  suggested  that  I  take  you  and  your  mother 
to  the  garrison  of  Simla,  where,  if  anything  should  happen, 
your  mother  would  be  under  the  protection  of  the  British 
soldiery.  It  was  a  wise  suggestion.  Affairs  looked  omi- 
nous. Religious  fanaticism  was  growing.  Notwithstand- 
ing the  soldiers  stationed  at  his  residence,  my  father  was 
in  real  danger.  Soon  came  the  pillage  of  the  temple  of 


SOME  FAMILY  HISTORY.  99 

Chour.  The  natives  having  once  tasted  blood,  scattered 
through  the  country  doing  much  damage  to  the  property 
of  European  and  native  land  owners. 

"The  fanatical  people  around  my  father's  estate  saw  they 
were  powerless  so  long  as  the  soldiers  remained.  In  time 
their  resentment  appeared  to  die  out.  We  began  to  think 
the  unpleasantness  had  blown  over,  the  more  so  as  my 
father  gave  employment  to  hundreds  of  Hindus  in  improv-: 
ing  his  estate.  Your  mother  and  I  had  spent  the  heated 
term  in  Simla  and  were  both  possessed  of  the  strongest 
desire  to  get  back  into  the  open  country. 

"We  determined  to  start  for  the  country  in  three  days' 
lime.  We  gave  orders  to  the  servants  to  prepare  for  the 
journey. 

"On  the  evening  before  our  departure  I  was  sitting  on 
the  veranda  in  order  to  enjoy  what  little  breeze  there  was. 
Your  mother  was  resting  in  a  light  easy  cane  chair  just 
inside  the  glass  door.  You  were  fast  asleep  in  your  cradle 
at  her  side.  I  had  been  on  the  veranda  only  a  few  minutes 
when  an  orderly  of  the  fort  came  to  the  railing.  After 
giving  the  military  salute,  he  said : 

"  'Mr.  Winters,  there  is  one  of  them  heathen  Hindus  at 
the  fort  gate.  He  says  he  must  see  the  colonel's  son  on 
important  business.  He  says,  too,  sir,  that  he  must  not 
be  seen  by  any  of  the  natives  around  the  garrison.  It 
looks  very  suspicious  to  me,  sir,  and,  if  I  may  be  so  bold, 
I  should  advise  ye  to  have  a  care  of  yourself  and  the 
good  lady  within,  there.' 

"Thanking  the  orderly,  I  told  him  to  admit  the  native 
— that  I  would  see  him  on  the  lawn  in  front  of  the  house 
in  the  glare  of  the  electric  light.  Telling  my  wife  that  I 
was  going  to  take  a  turn  around  the  garden  path,  I  pur- 


100  SOME  FAMILY  BISTORT. 

posely  walked  some  distance  away  from  the  house.  In  a 
minute  I  saw  the  white  turban  of  a  tall  Hindu  as  he  hid 
behind  some  oleander  bushes. 

"  'Come  out  here  if  you  wish  to  speak  to  me,'  I  said. 

"  'Nay,  Sahib,  my  life  would  not  be  worth  a  bowl  of 
rice  were  I  seen.' 

"  'Oh,  nonsense !  What  is  all  this  mystery  about  ?  Who 
are  you  anyway?'  I  asked. 

"  'Samaba,'  he  whispered. 

"  'Samaba !  Is  that  you  ?  What  brings  you  here  ?  Is 
anything  wrong  with  my  father  at  home?  Has  anything 
happened  ?  Speak !  Quick,  quick !' 

"Samaba  was  an  old  body-servant  of  my  father.  He 
had  cared  for  me  when  I  was  young.  Many  a  time  he  had 
carried  you  for  hours  together  up  and  down  the  paths 
of  our  country  seat.  To  all  of  us  Samaba  was  the  incar- 
nation of  fidelity  and  devotion.  We  would  as  soon  have 
thought  of  suspecting  ourselves  as  suspect  his  loyalty  to 
our  family. 

"  'Ah!  young  Sahib,  all  is  well.  The  Great  Sahib  (so 
he  always  spoke  of  my  father)  is  well  and  unharmed. 
The  danger  lies  not  with  him  now.' 

"  'Then  why  have  you  come  all  this  distance,  and  why 
do  you  act  so  mysteriously?'  I  asked. 

"  'Come  into  the  shadow  of  this  tree,  Sahib,  and  I  will 
tell  you  all.  Your  father,  the  Great  Sahib,  is  safe  only 
because  he  is  so  well  guarded  by  the  English  soldiers.  My 
people  know  that  if  anything  were  done  to  him  or  to  you, 
the  soldiers  would  wreak  terrible  vengeance  on  them. 
They,  therefore,  appear  to  have  forgotten  their  anger. 
One  would  think  their  smouldering  fanaticism  had  died 
out.  But  be  not  deceived,  my  lord;  a  Hindu's  revenge 


SOME  FAMILY  HISTORY.  1Q1 

never  dies.  It  may  lie  dormant  for  a  generation,  but  it  is 
unrelenting  and  inexorable.  It  is  handed  down  from 
father  to  son.  In  this  case  of  your  father,  Sahib,  it  is  more 
unrelenting-  because  tinged  with  religious  fanaticism. 
Therefore  have  I  come  to  warn  the  Little  Sahib.' 

'  'Warn — me!    Of  what,  Samaba?'  I  inquired  in  alarm. 

"'Of  this,  Sahib:  The  priests  of  Brahminism  in 
the  neigborhood  of  your  country  home  have  decided 
to  wreak  their  vengeance,  not  on  your  father,  nor 
on  you — neither  of  you  dare  they  touch — but  upon  your 
son,  the  baby  Sahib,  whom  I  have  so  often  carried  and 
folded  in  these  arms.  Oh,  sorrow,  sorrow !  danoiess  and 
black  grief!' 

"The  faithful  old  man's  tall  form  literally  swayed  to  and 
fro  like  some  lithe  withe  in  the  excess  of  his  grief. 
'Tell  me !'  I  cried,  'what  is  in  store  for  my  child  ?' 

"  'They  intend  to  steal  the  child,'  he  replied ;  'but 
whether  they  intend  to  kill  him  or  merely  to  hold  him  as 
a  hostage  I  have  not  been  able  to  learn.  At  the  risk  of 
my  life  have  I  warned  you.  Should  any  of  my  tribe  dis- 
cover that  I  have  done  this,  the  bow-string  or  poison 
would  be  my  fate.  Farewell,  Sahib.  May  the  Little 
Sahib  be  forever  happy.' 

"The  faithful  fellow  had  glided  away  into  the  darkness 
before  I  could  thank  him  or  put  a  few  rupees  into  his  hand. 
You  may  imagine  my  anxiety.  I  at  once  sent  a  letter  by  a 
fast-running  messenger  to  my  father.  In  three  days  I 
received  his  answer.  He  strongly  urged  me  to  take  you 
and  your  mother  to  England  and  remain  there  for  a  few 
years.  As  for  himself,  he  declared  that  having  taken  the 
stand  he  had,  he  did  not  intend  to  give  up  the  fight.  He 
lived  on  his  estate  for  three  years  longer,  when  he  sue- 


102  SOME  FAMILY  HISTORY. 

cumbed  to  an  attack  of  jungle  fever,  but  not,  thank  God, 
without  receiving  all  the  Sacraments  of  Holy  Church. 

"As  it  was  with  your  grandfather,  so  it  was  with  me 
and  with  your  mother.  Neither  of  us  liked  the  cold, 
changeable,  foggy  climate  of  England.  After  remaining 
there  for  one  year  we  sold  our  English  property  in  London 
and  I  became  a  citizen  of  the  United  States. 

"Before  leaving  India,  I  settled  a  fair  competency  on 
Samaba,  who,  when  he  became  his  own  master,  elected  to 
leave  that  portion  of  the  country  where  he  believed  his 
life  was  in  danger  owing  to  his  devotion  to  our  family. 
He  settled  in  Calcutta,  from  which  place  I  heard  of  him 
half-yearly  through  the  kindness  of  an  English  officer. 

"He  died  five  years  after  the  events  I  have  just  related. 
A  year  before  his  death  my  correspondent  succeeded  in 
getting  the  faithful  old  servant  to  sit  for  his  photograph. 
From  this  I  ordered  the  large  oil  painting  which  now 
hangs  in  our  drawing-room.  It  is  a  perpetual  reminder  of 
the  gratitude  due  to  the  faithful  old  man,  who  undoubtedly 
saved  your  life  and  most  probably  mine  and  your  mother's, 
too,  for  if  they  had  attempted  to  rob  me  of  you,  I  should 
have  fought  desperately,  although  it  is  more  than  probable 
I  should  have  been  overpowered  by  numbers. 

"So  you  see,  my  dear  Claude,"  said  Mr.  Winters,  when 
he  had  finished  the  strange  story,  "the  necessity  for  the 
caution  I  gave  you  about  having  anything  to  do  with  any 
traveling  Hindus  or  fakirs  you  may  come  across.  How- 
ever, do  not  let  this  bit  of  family  history  influence  you  too 
much.  I  mean  in  this  sense:  Do  not  get  morbid  about 
it.  After  the  lapse  of  nearly  twenty  years  the  whole  affair 
may  have  passed  from  the  memory  of  every  one  interested 
in  it  in  India  and  the  whole  question  of  revenge  be  forgot- 


AN  HONORABLE  COMBINATION.  103 

ten.  Remember  that  we  live  in  the  United  States,  where 
it  is  a  moral  impossibility  for  such  strange  and  weird 
things  to  happen  as  could  more  or  less  easily  take  place  in 
a  less  thoroughly  organized  country  as  India  was  at  that 
time,  when  the  territory  I  speak  of  was  governed  by  the 
native  Rajahs,  who  were  only  restrained  from  acts  of  des- 
potism by  the  fear  of  summary  justice  administered  by  a 
neighboring  regiment  of  English  soldiers. 

"A  third  reason  why  you  should  not  worry  about  this — 
and  from  what  I  know  of  you  I  feel  sure  this  will  be 
a  more  telling  one — is  that  we  must  never  forget  there 
is  an  overruling  Providence  that  directs  all  our  ways. 
Nothing  can  harm  us,  my  boy,  but  sin.  Therefore  pray 
every  day,  not  only  for  yourself,  but  for  me,  for  mother, 
for  Laura  and  Lily,  and  all  the  children  and,  of  course, 
for  Ernest,  as  we  all  pray  for  you  every  day." 

And  now,  while  Claude  Winters  is  thinking  over  his 
strange  family  history,  we  must  leave  him  for  a  time  and 
go  back  to  events  that  are  transpiring  among  the  other 
boys  at  St.  Cuthbert's. 


CHAPTER  XII. 

AN    HONORABLE   COMBINATION. 

GREAT  excitement  was  caused  in  the  yard  one  morning 
in  October  when  Mr.  Shalford  announced  that  with  the 
President's  sanction  and  approval  he  had  determined  to 
have  a  fall  field-day  of  sports  and  games. 

He  told  the  boys  there  were  to  be  several  track  events, 
sprinting,  pole,  long,  and  high  jumping,  and  many  other 


104  AN  HONORABLE  COMBINATION. 

things  such  as  delight  the  hearts  of  boys — that  is,  of  real 
boys.  He  had  secured  a  whole  day's  holiday.  The  town 
band  had  been  engaged.  There  was  to  be  a  big  feast  in  the 
refectory. 

The  glad  news  was  received  with  great  enthusiasm. 
Practice  for  the  various  events  began  at  once.  Entries 
would  be  received  on  the  fifteenth  of  the  month. 

"You  know  the  weather  is  uncertain  and  capricious  in 
October,"  said  the  prefect,  "you  must,  therefore,  all  of  you, 
pray  for  a  fine  day  on  the  last  Thursday  of  October.  These 
games  depend  altogether  on  the  weather.  We  have  had  a 
fine  spell  for  some  time,  but  it  may  change  soon.  If  this 
should  happen,  the  races  and  trials  of  skill  will  be  post- 
poned until  spring." 

In  consequence  of  the  coming  event,  there  was  much 
animation  throughout  the  college,  both  on  the  track,  in 
the  field,  and  in  the  yard.  Everywhere  practice  was  going 
on  for  one  event  or  another. 

It  has  been  stated  that  our  friends  of  the  Philosophy 
class  had  on  the  first  day  of  term  noticed  with  dissatisfac- 
tion the  peculiarly  rough  and  uninviting  appearance  of 
many  of  the  new  boys.  As  time  went  on,  it  was  found  that 
appearances  were  more  or  less  true  indications  of  interior 
dispositions,  and  of  manners.  It  was  thought  that  the 
college  influence  would  mold  and  elevate  these  characters 
— that  the  new  element  would  soon  be  assimilated — so  that 
the  tone  of  the  yard  would  not  be  degenerated.  Many  of 
the  older  boys  in  the  upper  classes,  after  watching  the 
trend  of  events  for  some  time,  were  not  over  sanguine  of 
immediate  results. 

Of  one  thing  the  prefect  was  more  or  less  certain.  These 
undesirable  boys,  and  there  were  more  than  a  dozen  of 


• 

AN  HONORABLE  COMBINATION.  105 

them  this  year — were  not  morally  bad  boys.  Had  this  been 
the  case,  any  one  who  knows  anything  of  St.  Cuthbert's 
would  tell  you  that  their  college  career  would  come  to  a 
speedy  end. 

But  their  tone  was  low.  They  were  troublesome.  Those 
in  authority  were  their  natural  enemies.  Many  rules  were 
broken  with  impunity.  Their  influence  over  younger  and 
more  easily  led  boys  was,  if  not  decidedly  bad,  at  least 
dangerous  and  altogether  undesirable. 

It  may  be  asked,  are  such  boys  really  found  to  exist  in 
Catholic  colleges,  or  are  they  only  put  into  books  as  a 
dark  background  for  brighter  and  better  characters  ?  The 
answer  is,  that  unquestionably  they  do  exist  in  real 
school  life.  To  picture  a  perfectly  ideal  state  of  things, 
and  only  the  best,  even  in  the  very  best  Catholic  institu- 
tions, would  be  to  portray  the  unreal  and  the  impossible. 
A  college  is  a  little  world  in  itself.  As  in  the  bigger  out- 
side world  there  exist  the  good  and  the  bad  elements,  so  in 
a  gathering  of  two  or  three  hundred  boys  it  would  be  a 
moral  impossibility  for  all  to  be  ideally  good.  It  would 
be  a  perversion  of  the  truth  to  describe  all  as  good,  ail 
as  actuated  by  the  nobler  motives  which  should  guide  our 
actions. 

It  may  be  asked,  if  a  bad  element,  a  lowering  influence, 
be  found  in  our  Catholic  colleges,  why  do  fond  mothers 
and  fathers  send  their  dearly  loved  ones  to  such  places? 
The  answer  is  not  far  to  seek.  The  fond  mothers  and 
fathers  know  better  than  probably  you  and  I,  gentle  reader, 
that  very  often,  indeed  it  may  be  safe  to  say,  always,  the 
evil  influence  of  the  bad  upon  their  sons  is  very  much  less 
at  college  than  elsewhere.  Mothers  and  fathers  realize 
that  men  who  conduct  such  institutions  make  it  a  life-work 


106  AN  HONORABLE  COMBINATION. 

of  zeal  and  love.  Their  whole  attention  is  given  to  the 
training  of  the  morals  of  youth.  Added  to  this,  their  large 
experience  in  the  guidance  of  youth,  which  is  rarely 
possessed  by  the  individual  father  or  mother,  and  the 
question  is  fairly  answered. 

It  is  precisely  because  these  pages  are  intended  to  reflect 
actual  facts  of  real  college  life,  that  we  have  to  deal  with 
some  boys  of  undesirable  dispositions.  A  college,  as  has 
been  said,  as  well  as  the  world,  is  composed  of  the  good 
as  well  as  the  bad.  It  is  only  by  contrasting  the  one  with 
the  other,  that  the  nobler  traits  of  boy  nature  are  brought 
out  in  strong  relief. 

Among  the  troublesome  boys  at  St.  Cuthbert's,  Ralph 
Ditson  and  John  Gregson  were  unquestionably  the  worst. 
Of  the  latter  we  made  mention  when  relating  the  fight 
which  took  place  between  him  and  Claude  Winters  the 
year  before.  He  had  not  improved  since  that  time.  Up  to 
all  sorts  of  mischief — not  the  kind  which  expends  itself  in 
harmless  practical  jokes,  but  rather  of  that  kind  which  was 
sure  to  have  more  or  less  malice  in  it — Gregson  was  for- 
ever in  hot  water  with  his  professors  and  with  the  prefects. 
Not  actually  bad  enough  to  be  expelled,  he  was  at  best  a 
most  troublesome  boy,  giving  endless  anxiety  to  those  in 
authority. 

Ralph  Ditson  was  little  better.  Consequently  these  two 
were  bosom  friends.  Where  one  was,  there  the  other  was 
sure  to  be.  It  was  rare  that  one -was  under  punishment 
without  having  the  other  as  a  companion  in  misery. 

Now  these  two  boys  were  good  athletes.  They  could 
hold  their  own  in  nearly  every  kind  of  manly  exercise. 
The  consequence  of  this  was,  that  they  always  had  a  large 
following  of  younger  boys — boys  of  an  age  when  they  are 


AN  HONORABLE  COMBINATION.  107 

prone  to  be  hero-worshippers.  Had  the  prestige  honestly 
gained  by  superiority  in  games  of  strength  and  skill  been 
rightly  used,  no  one  would  have  objected  to  the  influence 
they  wielded. 

Unfortunately  this  very  influence  was  dangerous  in  their 
hands.  It  was  used  against  authority,  against  discipline, 
against  order.  Those  who  were  under  their  influence,  in 
some  unknown,  imperceptible  way  descended  in  their  own 
estimation,  and  in  the  esteem  of  others.  The  followers  of 
Ditson  and  Gregson  lost  that  subtle,  mysterious  thing 
which  in  college  language  has  its  own  specific  signification, 
and  is  designated  as  "tone." 

The  acknowledged  excellence  of  their  athletic  powers, 
as  well  as  their  pernicious  influence  over  others,  was  shown 
on  the  day  of  Mr.  Shal ford's  announcement  of  the  autumn 
games,  by  a  caustic  notice  being  pinned  on  the  bulletin 
board.  It  ran  thus : 

NOTICE  : 

Those  desirous  of  being  trained  for  the  fall  games  can 
apply  to 

Ditson  and  Gregson, 

General  Rule  Breakers. 

Toughness  Cultivated, 

No  Regard  Paid  to  Tone, 

Slang  a  Specialty. 

Of  course  the  note  remained  on  the  board  only  a  few 
minutes.  The  prefect  promptly  removed  it,  but  not  before 
several  dozen  boys  had  read  it,  among  whom  was  Gregson. 
He  was  furious.  His  face  flushed  crimson  with  anger. 

"I  can  lick  the  fellow  that  done  that,"  was  his  ungram- 
matical  remark. 

"Can  ye?"  remarked  Gilkins,  "and  suppose  I  did  it?" 

"If  it  was,  I — "  but  Gilkins'  big  form  towered  above 
Gregson,  and  he  did  not  finish  his  threat. 


108  AN  HONORABLE  COMBINATION. 

"Well,  it  wasn't,  anyway,"  continued  Gilkins,  "but  I'd 
hide  my  head  if  such  things  were  ever  written  about  me, 
whether  I  found  the  man  who  did  it  or  not." 

Greg-son  walked  off,  determined  to  find  out  who  put  up 
the  notice,  but  in  this  he  was  never  successful. 

That  afternoon  after  classes  were  over,  Claude  Winters 
came  flying  across  the  yard,  in  his  usual  impetuous  way, 
to  where  Mr.  Shalford  was  standing.  As  soon  as  he 
had  regained  sufficient  breath  to  speak  coherently,  he 
said: 

"Please,  sir,  I'm  come  to  ask  for  a  favor.  Will  you 
grant  it,  sir?" 

"How  can  I?" 

"You  can  if  you  will,  sir?" 

"But  how  can  I  if  I  do  not  know  what  it  is  ?  Look  here, 
Sunbeam,,  do  you  not  know  I  cannot  act  in  the  dark? 
What  do  you  want,  anyway  ?" 

"We  want  permission,  sir,  for  Rob  Jones,  Bracebridge, 
Roy  Henning  and — who  else? — oh,  yes,  and  Gilkins — to 
come  up  to  the  Philosophy  class-room." 

"What  for?" 

"We  are  going  to  have  a  meeting." 

"What  about?" 

"That's  a  secret,  sir.  Can't  tell  you  yet.  But  there's 
nothing  wrong  about  it,  sir." 

"I'm  sure  of  that,  Claude.    All  right,  they  may  go." 

"And,  sir,  if  Hunter  and  the  others  want  some  more 
boys,  may  I  fetch  them  up,  too  ?" 

"Most  mysterious,  all  this,"  said  Mr.  Shalford.  "I  sup- 
pose it's  all  right.  I  may  drop  in  unawares,  though." 

"Thank  you,  sir;"  and  shortly  after,  Gilkins  and  the 
three  Rhetoric  boys  were  ushered  into  the  Philosophy 


AN  HONORABLE  COMBINATION.  109 

class-room  with  all  due  solemnity.  They  had  not  the 
remotest  idea  why  they  had  been  invited. 

"We  thought  we  would  call  a  meeting,"  said  Howard 
Hunter,  when  they  were  all  seated,  "and  discuss  the  forth- 
coming field-day. 

"You  know,  fellows — oh,  excuse  me,  you  know,  gentle- 
men— that  things  are  not  going  well  in  the  yard  so  far  this 
year.  There  is  one  crowd  always  together,  rain  or  shine. 
I  believe  there  is  a  good  deal  of  loose  talk  going  on  among 
them  and  the  thing  seems  to  be  spreading.  Only 'to-day  I 
heard  some  boys  use  expressions  in  the  yard  which  they 
would  not  have  dreamed  of  doing  this  time  last  year." 

"There  was  enough  of  it  last  year,  Stapleton,"  said  Rob 
Jones,  blushing  at  the  remembrance  of  his  own  share,  "at 
least  there  was  enough  of  it  before  Buckley  ran  away,  and 
I  broke  my  leg." 

"We  are  not  talking  of  that  time,  old  man,"  said  Staple- 
ton,  kindly,  "but  of  the  present.  Last  year's  events  are 
dead  and  gone.  We  have  to  deal  with  the  present." 

"What  do  you  propose  to  do?"  asked  Roy  Henning, 
who  from  a  rather  timid  and  somewhat  girlish  character 
of  last  year,  had  lately  developed  into  a  strong,  robust, 
athletic  young  man. 

"The  case  is  this,"  resumed  Stapleton,  who  seemed  to 
have  been  the  appointed  spokesman  of  the  informal  meet- 
ing, "there  is  no  denying  the  fact  that  Gregson  and  Ditson 
are  good  all-round  athletes.  That's  all  right  if  it  stopped 
there,  but  it  doesn't.  You  know  how  boys — all  of  us — 
admire  success  in  games  of  strength  and  skill.  Now  these 
fellows — I  wouldn't  in  the  least  object  to  them  having 
their  admirers  if  their  influence  over  those  who  admire 
them  was  turned  to  good  account." 


110  AN  HONORABLE  COMBINATION. 

"Isn't  it?"  asked  Ambrose  Bracebridge. 

"Indeed,  Ambrose,  I  am  sorry  to  say  it  is  not." 

"How  do  you  know  ?" 

"From  what  I  see.  From  what  I  can't  help  seeing.  And 
then  the  stuff  these  fellows  read !  Eugh  !  and  their  talk  is 
— well,  it  isn't  what  a  college  boy's  ought  to  be.  Why, 
I  actually  heard  one  of  these  fellows  swearing  this  very 
afternoon !" 

"But  after  all,"  said  Henning,  "what  can  we  do  about 
it?  It's  the  prefect's  place  to  look  after  these  things." 

"Can  a  man  be  in  a  hundred  places  at  once?"  asked 
Frank,  "and  don't  these  fellows  scatter  just  as  soon  as 
Mr.  Shalford  comes  near  them?" 

"What  does  that  mean  ?"  asked  Bracebridge. 

"It  means  there  is  something  wrong,  something  they  are 
ashamed  of ;  something  they  would  not  like  their  mothers 
or  sisters  to  hear." 

"Oh !"  said  Bracebridge. 

"But  what  can  we  do  about  it  ?"  again  asked  Henning. 

"Well,  I  have  talked  long  enough,"  said  Stapleton. 
"Now  let  Howard  or  somebody  else  suggest  a  remedy." 

"Whether  it  will  prove  a  remedy  or  not,"  said  Hunter, 
"I  am  not  sure,  but  I  think  the  experiment  is  worth  trying. 
You  know  they  are  good  at  games.  Every  game  won  by 
them  is  more  influence  in  the  yard  for  them.  Now,  what 
I  propose  is  this.  Let  us  all  make  a  most  determined  and 
vigorous  effort  to  carry  off,  if  not  all,  at  least  by  far  the 
greater  number  of  the  prizes  in  the  fall  field-day.  Let  us 
all  go  into  hard  training  and  do  our  very  best  to  win.  It  is 
a  fair  and  open  way  of  trying  to  down  an  unwholesome 
influence.  What  do  you  say,  boys?" 

The  idea  was  received  with  enthusiasm.     All  promised 


AN  HONORABLE  COMBINATION.  HI 

to  win  the  prizes  for  principle's  sake ;  at  least  they  all  added 
this  extra  motive  for  winning.  Every  one  promised  to 
go  into  special  training  for  some  particular  event. 

"Look  here,  gentlemen,"  said  Gilkins,  "I  don't  know 
what  you  invited  me  to  this  meeting  for.  I  guess  most  of 
the  time  since  I've  been  here  I  have  been  regarded  as 
rather  belonging  to  the  other  gang.  Isn't  that  so  ?" 

"No,  no,  no,"  came  a  chorus  of  voices.  "You're  all 
right." 

"No,  indeed,"  said  Harry  Selby,  "never  after  you 
changed  that  red  necktie!  Look  here,  old  man,  we  all 
think  a  great  deal  of  you.  You're  the  right  sort — a  dia- 
mond in  the  rough  a  little,  but  a  true  diamond  all  the 
same." 

"Good  gracious !  you  fellows  make  me  blush.  However, 
if  you  think  I  am  all  O.  K.  I'm  with  you  heart  and  soul — 
but  I  don't  know  what  influence  I  have  with  those  fellows. 
I  don't  know  what  I  can  do." 

"Lots,"  said  Howard  Hunter,  "much  more  than  you 
think.  With  your  size  and  strength,  with  those  big  'fists 
and  big  feet  of  yours,  when  you  put  your  foot  down — 
metaphorically  of  course — on  a  shady  scheme,  or  a  dan- 
gerous proposal  from  these  fellows,  don't  you  think  the 
scheme  or  proposal  stays  down  ?" 

"I  guess  it  does ;  at  all  events  it  will  for  the  future." 

"Well,  then,  see?" 

Gilkins  saw.  He  saw  that  size  and  strength  could  be 
used  to  a  good  purpose  if  only  the  intention  be  correct. 

Claude  Winters  took  a  keen  interest  in  the  progress  of 
the  meeting.  He  did  not  say  much  for  some  time.  He 
looked  a  good  deal  out  of  the  window.  There  was  in  his 
eye  a  strange — strange  for  him — reminiscent  twinkle. 


112  AN  HONORABLE  COMBINATION. 

This  meeting  and  the  work  these  upper  boys  proposed  to 
themselves  reminded  him  strongly  of  a  certain  five-corn- 
ered medal  he  carried  in  his  vest  pocket.  Wasn't  all  this 
precisely  the  work  of  the  Secret  Society  of  the  Perpetual 
Lily  which  Mr.  Hillson  established  last  year.  He  was 
sure  that  some  of  the  speakers  were  members,  but  true  to 
his  promise  to  Mr.  Hillson  he  did  not  attempt  to  find  out 
who  they  were.  But  wouldn't  he  have  glorious  news  to 
tell  Mr.  Hillson  in  his  next  letter  to  him ! 

Mr.  Shalford  came  in  when  the  conversation  had  become 
general.  The  boys  were  then  freely  discussing  the  ways 
and  means  of  carrying  out  their  individual  plans. 

"I  heartily  approve  of  your  plans,  boys,"  he  said.  "They 
are  perfectly  honorable.  There  must  be  nothing  under- 
hand, otherwise  the  scheme  defeats  itself." 

"Why,  of  course,  sir,"  said  several.  Such  a  proposition 
needed  no  discussion. 

"That's  right.  I  have  rarely  known  boys  who  want  to 
win  prizes  from  other  motives  than  cash  value  or  honor," 
he  said. 

"Not  even  a  certain  Rhetoric  class,  sir,"  said  Stapleton, 
with  a  pretended  simplicity,  but  at  the  same  time  with  a 
mischievous  twinkle  in  his  eye. 

"No,  not  even  that,"  admitted  the  prefect,  laughingly. 

That  evening,  after  supper,  the  members  of  the  honor- 
able combination  commenced  to  practice  in  earnest,  some 
with  the  wheel,  some  at  sprinting,  others  at  jumping, 
hurdle  racing,  and  the  other  games  which  go  to  make  up 
a  college  field-day. 


PLA2VS.  113 


CHAPTER  XIII. 

PLANS. 

THE  result  of  the  meeting  of  the  boys  of  the  two  upper 
classes  respecting  the  plan  by  which  they  might  honorably 
capture  the  greater  number  of  the  prizes  was,  as  has  been 
stated,  that  every  one  was  to  set  to  work  at  once  to  fit  him- 
self by  hard  practice  to  compete  in  some  event.  It  was 
decided  that  with  regard  to  the  principal  wheel  race 
Frank  Stapleton  and  Ambrose  Bracebridge  should  prac- 
tice together,  so  that  one  could  pace  the  other.  Ambrose 
was  in  reality  already  a  splendid  wheelman.  Stapleton 
was  a  close  second.  It  was  agreed  between  the  two  that 
just  before  the  time  for  closing  the  entries  on  the  day 
before  the  field-day,  he  who  was  then  considered  the  speed- 
ier of  the  two  should  enter  for  the  chief  event — the  mile 
race.  The  other  was  to  enter  for  the  next  important  event 
of  their  class. 

Rob  Jones  found  it  impossible  to  enter  for  any  of  the 
contests  owing  to  the  accident  of  the  year  before  in  which 
he  broke  his  leg. 

"If  I  can't  do  anything  toward  our  success  on  the  field," 
he  said,  "I  can  pray  for  the  success  of  others,  and  you  bet 
I'm  going  to  do  that." 

"Thanks,  old  fellow/'  said  Howard  Hunter. 

The  boys  did  not  know  exactly  how  to  utilize  big  Gilkins 
in  the  furtherance  of  their  plans.  His  chief  qualification 
was  sheer  strength.  Yard  practice  in  football — which 


114  PLANS. 

amid  all  the  preparations  for  the  field-day  had  by  no 
means  been  neglected — made  it  quite  clear  that  he  would 
be  an  acquisition  to  the  eleven,  but  in  sprinting,  wheeling, 
or  jumping  it  was  as  evidently  clear  that  he  was  not  up  to 
the  required  standard. 

"It's  a  pity  we  can't  utilize  his  great  strength  in  some 
way,"  remarked  Harry  Selby,  "he  is  turning  out  to  be  a 
jolly  good  fellow.  I  was  talking  to  him  this  morning.  He 
is  terribly  in  earnest  about  our  side  winning  by  far  the 
greater  share  of  the  prizes." 

"Whoop !  I  have  it !"  exclaimed  Claude  Winters.  "Go 
and  fetch  him,  Nash,  quick !" 

Gilkins  soon  came. 

"Say,  Gilkins,"  asked  Claude,  "have  you  decided  what 
event  you  are  going  to  enter  for  ?" 

"I  really  don't  see  any  chance  for  me.  I'm  not  speedy 
enough  for  the  foot  races.  Wheeling  is  not  exactly  in  my 
line,  nor  is  jumping  either.  I'm  awfully  sorry,  but  I  can't 
see  that  I'm  going  to  be  of  any  use  whatever." 

"Look  here,"  said  Claude,  "can't  you  throw  the  ham- 
mer or  put  the  shot?  You  know  these  things  are  on  the 
lists." 

"Of  course,  of  course !  I  never  thought  of  that.  Why, 
of  course !  There  wasn't  a  man  in  our  village  who  could 
touch  me  on  these  two  things.  I'll  enter  for  both  of  them. 
I'd  like  to  see  the  man  here  who  could  beat  me.  Glad  you 
mentioned  it." 

"First-rate!"  said  Hunter,  "splendid!" 

" What's  the  matter  with  Gilkins  ?w  shouted  Claude. 

"He's — all — right!"  promptly  responded  the  group, 
after  the  approved  style. 

"But  look  here,  boys.    I've  been  thinking  about  some- 


PLANS.  115 

thing  else."     There  was  a  puzzled  look  in  Gilkins'  face. 
His  tone  of  voice  was  decidedly  despondent. 

"What's  the  matter  now,  Cornstalks  ?"  asked  Claude. 

Gilkins,  by  this  time,  was  used  to  Winters'  teasing 
ways.  He  took  no  notice  of  the  nickname,  yet  it  was 
noticed  by  the  others  that  Claude  always  kept  safely  at 
arm's  length  from  Gilkins  when  he  used  it. 

"It's  just  this,"  he  replied,  "suppose  I  do  win  these  two 
prizes,  what  good  will  it  do  you  people?  Guess  I  am  no 
good  anyhow.  My  influence  is  nothing.  If  I  told  one  of 
those  other  fellows  that  this  or  that  thing  was  wrong  and 
shouldn't  be  done,  ten  to  one  he  would  go  and  do  it  just 
because  I  objected.  I  can't  be  of  any  help,  because  if  I 
win  anything  those  fellows  will  count  it  as  a  victory  for 
themselves,  of  course  thinking  I  am  on  their  side.  Say, 
boys,  I'm  terrible  sorry  I  gave  trouble  in  the  beginning 
of  the  year." 

The  committee  on  prize-winning  saw  there  was  some- 
thing in  Gilkins'  remarks.  As  yet  he  did  not  have  much 
influence  in  the  yard,  but  owing  to  his  great  strength  he 
was  sure  to  win  the  two  prizes.  The  question  was  how 
to  make  them  available  for  the  end  the  boys  proposed. 

"I  see  your  difficulty,"  said  Howard  Hunter,  "we  will 
try  to  get  a  solution  for  it.  There!  there's  the  bell  for 
studies.  We  will  talk  over  this  again  after  class.  Meet 
us  here  again,  will  you?  We  must  try  to  find  some  way 
to  make  you  useful  for  the  'good  of  the  cause'  you 
know." 

"I  wish  I  could  think  of  some  sure  way  myself,"  an- 
swered the  big  fellow. 

"I  really  wish  something  would  turn  up,"  said  Hunter, 
as  they  separated,  "which  would  establish  Gilkins'  posi- 


116  PLANS. 

tion  in  the  yard  so  that  everybody  might  clearly  know  on 
which  side  he  was." 

"A  good  fight,  for  instance?"  suggested  Selby. 

"Not  exactly  that — but  something  or  other,  I  don't  know 
what." 

As  good  fortune  would  have  it,  the  "something  or  other" 
did  turn  up,  and  on  that  very  day.  It  all  happened  in  this 
wise.  Gilkins  was  sitting  on  one  of  the  yard  benches. 
Near  him  sat  Gregson,  who  was  talking  to  a  companion. 
The  conversation  was  not  of  the  choicest,  it  being  inter- 
larded with  many  slang  expressions,  to  many  of  which 
more  than  one  meaning  could  be  attached.  The  two  were 
discussing  a  dime  novel.  From  their  running  criticism, 
the  book  must  have  been  of  a  very  lurid  character. 

"Oh,  shut  up,"  said  Gilkins,  earnest  at  the  expense  of 
politeness,  "that's  no  kind  of  talk  to  use  here." 

"It's  none  of  your  business  what  kind  of  talk  I  make  use 
of,"  said  Gregson. 

"Hm-m !  well,  it  is  my  business.  I  don't  like  it,  and 
you've  got  to  stop  it — at  least  in  my  hearing,"  said  the 
young  giant,  emphatically. 

"Ho,  ho!  did  you  hear  that?  Cornstalks  is  getting 
sanctimonious  all  of  a  sudden.  I  suppose  I'll  have  to  ask 
leave  to  say  anything  at  all  next,  or — or  get  my  name 
posted  on  the  bulletin  board  again  by  some  sneak." 

"Do  you  mean  to  accuse  me  of  that  mean  trick?"  Gil- 
kins  rose  and  faced  Gregson,  who  began  to  cower. 

"I  ain't  accusing  nobody — yet,"  said  the  ungrammatical 
Gregson,  "but  I'll  get  even  with  those  who  did  it — you'll 
see." 

"It's  lucky  for  you,  my  fine  fellow,  you  did  not  accuse 
me  of  that,"  said  the  other.  "But  what  I  was  saying  is, 


PLANS.  117 

that  at  least  when  I  am  around  you've  got  to  stop  that 
slangy,  shady  talk.  It  don't  go,  mind." 

In  his  excitement  Gilkins'  diction  was  not  elegant,  but 
no  one  could  doubt  his  sincerity.  By  this  time  a  crowd 
of  boys  had  gathered  around  the  disputants.  Among  them 
were  Hunter,  Falvey,  Bracebridge,  Nash,  and  Henning. 

"Good  for  you,  Gilkins,"  said  Nash,  "stick  up  for  what 
you  know  is  right.  Don't  be  afraid." 

Hunter  pulled  Nash's  coat  in  warning. 

"Don't  interfere,"  he  whispered,  "let  Gilkins  alone. 
He  can  take  care  of  himself  all  right.  You  might  spoil  his 
game.  I  confess,  as  yet,  I  do  not  see  what  he  is  driving 
at." 

The  crowd  which  had  gathered  around  the  two  boys  was 
about  equally  divided.  About  half  were  staunch  admirers 
of  Gregson.  The  rest  more  or  less  despised  him  and 
would  not  regret  to  see  his  prestige  toppled  over.  This 
worthy  saw  that  he  was  not  making  much  headway  against 
Gilkins.  So  he  determined  on  a  bold  stroke,  relying  on  his 
adherents  to  see  him  through  if  matters  came  to  the  worst. 
Assuming  a  bragging  air  he  began : 

"Look  here,  I  don't  allow  anybody  to  dictate  to  me  what 
I  shall  say." 

"Indeed !" 

"Yes,  indeed,  and  any  fellow  who  tries  it  on  has  got 
to  fight  me  first." 

"Is  that  so?" 

"Yes,  that's  so.    Are  you  willing  to  fight?" 

"No." 

"Why?    You're  afraid." 

"Not  much.  If  you  want  to  know  very  badly  why  I 
won't  thrash  you — I  don't  say  fight  you,  mind — why  I 


118  PLANS. 

won't  thrash  you,  this  is  the  reason,  and  I  don't  care  who 
knows  it.  I'm  going  to  get  along  in  this  college,  and  I'm 
going  to  keep  the  rules  as  far  as  I  can.  See?  that's  the 
reason  why  I  won't  have  a  fight  with  you." 

Brave  old  Gilkins !  A  diamond  in  the  rough,  perhaps, 
but  beneath  the  rough  exterior  there  was,  after  all,  a  heart 
as  true  as  steel.  The  heart  beneath  the  homespun  is  as 
true  as — often  truer — than  that  beating  beneath  the  broad- 
cloth. The  occasion  called  for  a  certain  moral  courage, 
and  the  boy,  crude,  and  even  uncouth,  if  you  will,  destitute 
as  yet  of  the  advantages  of  an  education,  lacking  polish, 
refinement,  grace,  rose  equal  to  the  occasion.  He  had 
found  his  opportunity  for  showjng  to  which  party  he 
belonged. 

"Dear  me!  isn't  he  getting — "  began  Gregson,  but 
Howard  Hunter  interrupted.  He  saw  it  was  time  to  lend 
support.  He  gave  a  signal  to  Nash,  who  appeared  to  be 
spokesman. 

"Good  for  you,  old  man,"  shouted  Nash,  once  more. 
"That's  the  stuff." 

Several  others  cheered.  The  Gregson  following  was 
silent.  Their  leader  saw  he  was  getting  the  worst  of  it. 

"I  despise  a  boy  who  won't  fight,"  he  said. 

"And  I  despise  one  who  will,  unless  there's  a  good 
reason,"  replied  Gilkins. 

"Oh,  you're  afraid — that's  what  you  are." 

"That's  what  you  say.  Wait.  The  time  may  come  when 
you  will  find  you  are  wrong  there." 

"Hello!  what's  the  rumpus?"  shouted  Claude  Winters, 
as  he  came  running  up  to  the  crowd. 

"Oh,  nothing.  Only  Gilkins  has  turned  preacher,"  said 
a  bystander. 


PLANS.  119 

"Good  for  you,  old  man !  I'll  be  one  of  your  congrega- 
tion. Now  for  your  'fifthly.'  I'm  all  attention." 

Claude's  remarks  were  made  just  at  the  right  time. 
Every  one  knew  and  admired  the  sterling  character  of 
Winters.  His  presence  was  everywhere  like  a  sunbeam, 
ever  smiling,  ever  happy.  He  was  one  of  those  boys  who 
wielded  a  great,  but  unconscious,  moral  influence.  He 
never  preached,  never  obtruded  himself,  was  no  prig,  yet 
there  was  no  other  boy  in  the  college,  with  perhaps  the 
exception  of  Howard  Hunter,  who  had  such  an  unsought 
influence  for  good  among  his  companions. 

After  his  words  there  was  no  possibility  of  mistaking 
for  the  future  to  which  of  the  two  camps  Gilkins  now 
belonged.  His  own  manly  declaration  of  his  avowed 
intention  of  "keeping  straight"  won  him  the  admiration 
of  many  of  the  neutrals.  Unknown  to  himself  he  had 
already  begun  to  have  a  following  of  his  own.  Big,  strong, 
and  a  very  promising  center-rush  on  the  college  eleven,  he 
was  looked  up  to  by  many  in  the  yard  with  that  admira- 
tion which  strength  and  skill  are  ever  wont  to  create  in 
youthful  minds.  An  event  that  followed  increased  this 
admiration. 

"Go  on  with  your  sermon,  parson,"  said  Claude. 
"Where  were  you — fifthly  or  sixthly?" 

"Oh,  you  just  mind  your  business,  Winters,"  said  Greg- 
son,  "I'm  running  this  thing." 

"I  don't  think  you  are — much,"  remarked  Gilkins. 

"Yes,  I  am,  and  I  tell  you  what  I  think  of  you." 

"What?" 

"You  won't  fight  me?" 

"No." 

"Then  you  are  a — " 


120  PLANS. 

1 

"What's  that!" 

"—coward!" 

At  this  word  Gilkins  did  a  thing  which  he  should  not 
have  done,  and  I  do  not  attempt  to  excuse  him.  I  only 
ask  the  reader  to  consider  the  provocation.  He  did  not 
intend  to  engage  in  a  fight,  but  the  imputation  of  coward- 
ice was  hard  to  hear.  The  hot  blood  rushed  to  his  head. 
For  a  moment  he  was  on  the  point  of  losing  his  self-con- 
trol. Fortunately,  just  at  the  right  moment,  he  caught 
Hunter's  eye.  In  it  he  read  the  signal  "don't  fight,  but 
stand  your  ground."  This  steadied  him.  He  nodded  to 
Hunter  that  he  understood.  Going  close  up  to  Gregson's 
side,  he  said: 

"Young  fellow,  if  you  were  nearer  my  size  I  would 
make  you  take  that  word  back.  As  it  is  you  had  better 
take  a  tumble." 

Gregson  had  a  very  rapid  experience  for  the  next  quar- 
ter of  a  minute.  Gilkins  planted  his  right  foot  firmly  at 
the  heels  of  Gregson.  He  then  passed  the  fore  part  of 
his  right  arm  under  the  chin  of  the  boy  who  had  called 
him  names.  Gilkins  suddenly  raised  his  arm,  and  Greg- 
son  was  "chucked"  under  the  chin.  He  lost  his  balance, 
sitting  down  in  the  gutter  in  a  pool  of  mud — the  only 
pool  in  the  yard. 

For  a  moment  there  was  perfect  silence  among  the 
boys.  No  one  knew  how  the  affair  would  end.  It  was 
as  if  two  stags  had  met  in  a  forest  glade.  Unquestionably 
Gregson  was  the  most  surprised  boy  of  all.  Dark  waves 
of  passion  chased  one  another  across  his,  by  no  means  too 
handsome,  face. 

Now  when  the  fallen  boy  prepared  to  rise,  he  neces- 
sarily put  his  hands  to  the  ground.  Being  for  the  nonce 


PLANS.  121 

seated  in  a  mud  puddle  his  hands  also  soon  became  cov- 
ered with  a  thick  coating  of  the  same  undesirable  mate- 
rial. He  presented  to  his  admirers,  as  he  began  to  get 
up,  a  most  undignified  appearance  for  a  hero. 

Ridicule  is  a  powerful  weapon  as  a  destroyer  of  pres- 
tige. Just  at  the  moment  when  affairs  looked  the  most 
ominous,  a  clear,  silvery  treble  voice  was  heard  giving 
way  to  a  burst  of  most  enjoyable,  uncontrollable  laughter. 
It  was  infectious.  Everybody  at  once  began  to  see  the 
funny  side  of  things. 

"Oh,  isn't  he  a  dude,  now?"  said  one. 

Laughter  over  Gregson's  plight  became  general.  Peal 
followed  peal,  shout  succeeded  shout,  until  there  was  not 
a  boy  in  the  group  who  had  witnessed  the  tumble  but 
was  now  holding  his  sides  in  glee. 

"Scrape  him  with  a  shingle,"  said  a  mischievous  small 
boy. 

"Better  borrow  a  hoe,"  remarked  another. 

What  could  Gregson  do?  It  was  impossible  amid  all 
this  merriment  and  ridicule  to  keep  up  a  semblance  of 
anger.  Gilkins  had  to  laugh,  too. 

"Oh,  really,  I — he,  he,  he ! — I  beg  your  pardon,  Greg- 
son — he,  he,  hi — I  didn't  know  there  was  a  mud  hole — 
he,  he,  he,  he! — a  mud  hole  behind  you  or  I  wouldn't 
have  tripped  you.  Indeed  I  wouldn't." 

The  mortified  boy  was  quite  sharp  enough  to  see  that 
when  the  laugh  had  been  turned  so  thoroughly  against 
him,  it  was  not  wise  to  show  his  anger.  He  determined 
to  abide  his  time  and  "get  even."  How  he  did  this  we 
shall  see  later. 

"What  on  earth  have  you  been  doing  with  yourself?" 
asked  Mr.  Shalford,  as  he  came  up  at  the  moment  Greg- 


122  THE  GREAT  DAY  ARRIVE 8. 

son  had  risen  to  his  feet.  "Here's  one  little  mud  spot  in 
the  whole  yard,  and  you  must  select  that  to  fall  in!" 

"Can  I  have  the  lavatory  key,  sir?"  asked 'the  crest- 
fallen boy. 

"Of  course,  under  the  circumstances.  You  had  better 
send  some  one  to  your  trunk  for  another  suit  of  clothes. 
Then  you  can  go  to  the  bathroom  and  take  a  bath  and  a 
change." 

And  thus  Gilkins,  in  a  way  he  had  not  intended,  greatly 
diminished  the  influence  and  the  prestige  which  Gregson 
had  held.  Among  the  boys  there  was  no  mistaking  his 
intentions.  He  was  pledged  for  the  law  and  order  side. 
The  open  declaration  that  "I  am  going  to  get  along  in 
this  college  and  I  am  going  to  keep  the  rules  as  far  as 
I  can,"  gained  for  him  many  friends.  He  had  the  satisfac- 
tion now  of  knowing  that  any  victories  won  by  him  at  the 
field-day  sports  would  have  their  full  effect.  No  one  was 
surprised,  therefore,  now  to  see  Gilkins  leave  the  yard  for 
the  practice-field  arm  in  arm  with  Hunter  and  Stapleton. 


CHAPTER  XIV. 

THE  GREAT   DAY  ARRIVES. 

ON  the  last  Thursday  of  October  at  least  twenty  boys 
jumped  out  of  their  beds  long  before  the  great  bell  had 
tolled  the  hour  for  rising.  They  wanted  to  know  what 
kind  of  weather  they  might  expect. 

The  great  field-day  dawned  with  the  clearest  of  blue 
skies.  There  was  not  a  cloud  to  be  seen.  Late  in  the 
year  as  it  was,  the  day  promised  to  be  warm  and  cheer- 


THE  GREAT  DAY  ARRIVES.  123 

ful.  But  for  the  more  gorgeous  autumn  coloring  of  the 
trees  one  might  have  imagined  that  the  occasion  was  the 
annual  field-day  in  June,  instead  of  an  extra  one  late  in  the 
autumn. 

Both  boys  and  prefects  were  jubilant.  Mr.  Shalford 
was  ubiquitous.  He  seemed  to  have  a  thousand  things 
to  attend  to,  little  details  which  all  required  his  own  per- 
sonal supervision. 

The  first  surprise  of  the  day  was  the  breakfast.  Hot 
biscuits,  pone,  steak,  and  breakfast  bacon  and — yes,  ac- 
tually— plate  after  plate  of  hot  buttered  toast.  How  could 
the  cooks  get  it  all  ready  by  seven  o'clock?  Then  when 
the  boys  thought  the  sumptuous  meal  was  over/the  dozen 
serving-boys  in  their  white  suits  and  caps,  trooped  in, 
bearing  trays  of  delicious  fruits,  oranges,  apples,  pears, 
bananas,  plums  even,  and  slices  of  late  cool  red  water- 
melon! 

But  this  was  only  a  beginning  to  the  surprises  of  the 
day.  Immediately  after  breakfast  came  the  ceremony  of 
raising  the  college  flag,  amid  the  singing  of  college  songs, 
yells,  and  ringing  cheers.  This  standard  was  an  immense 
one,  some  forty  feet  long.  It  had  been  presented  to  the 
college  by  some  of  the  alumni  of  St.  Cuthbert's  as  a  mark 
of  their  devotion  to  their  alma  mater.  The  flag  was  used 
only  on  very  special  occasions,  such  as  Easter,  Christmas, 
breaking-up  day,  Washington's  birthday,  when  some 
very  distinguished  guest  was  visitor,  when  some  great 
glory  had  fallen  to  the  college  football  or  baseball  teams, 
or  finally  when  the  news  came  that  some  great  honor  had 
come  to  an  alumnus  of  the  college,  either  in  Church  or 
State. 

When  the  flag  rose  slowly  above  the  heads  of  the  boys, 


124  THE  GREAT  DA"!  ARRIVES. 

it  was  a  charming  sight  to  watch  them — a  company  of  as 
pure-hearted,  generous,  handsome  boys  as  ever  gathered 
together  in  one  college.  Caps  waved  in  the  air.  Shouts 
and  songs  echoed  back  from  the  tall  buildings  as  the  great 
folds  of  the  standard  were  gently  lifted  in  the  breeze,  tell- 
ing the  sleepy  town  below  that  there  were  great  doings 
at  the  college. 

"Wouldn't  it  be  better,  sir,"  asked  John  Gregson,  of 
the  prefect,  "that  no  wheels  be  allowed  on  the  track  or 
anywhere  until  the  wheel  races  begin  this  afternoon?" 

"Why?" 

"Oh,  because — because  if  we  go  wheeling  much  before 
the  races  we  shall  all  be  too  tired  to  make  good  time." 

"That's  something  of  a  reason.  At  all  events  I  do  not 
want  any  wheels  on  the  grounds  this  morning  on  account 
of  the  marking  of  the  distances,  so,  as  you  suggest,  it 
may  be  a  good  plan  to  keep  the  wheel-room  locked  until 
after  dinner.  Here,  Winters,  get  one  boy  from  each  class 
and  come  to  my  room  for  programs  in  ten  minutes.  Tell 
each  boy  to  give  only  to  his  classmates,  otherwise  we 
shall  not  have  enough  to  go  around  this  afternoon  when 
the  visitors  come." 

Ditson  and  Gregson  and  a  third  boy  named  Hollister 
were  talking  together  very  mysteriously  when  Winters 
passed  them  with  a  bundle  of  programs  in  his  hand.  In 
spite  of  the  manager's  injunctions  he  could  not  help  giv- 
ing each  one  of  these  boys  a  program.  It  was  with  an 
almost  malicious  twinkle  in  his  eyes  he  saw  the  amaze- 
ment on  Gregson's  face  when  that  boy  discovered  that 
nearly  every  one  of  the  Philosophers,  as  well  as  Gilkins, 
Henning,  and  Bracebridge,  had  entered  for  one  or  other 
of  the  different  events. 


THE  GREAT  DAY  ARRIVES.  125 

"Hang  it  all!"  Winters  heard  him  say  as  he  passed  on, 
"those  fellows  have  done  this  merely  to  down  us.  I  knew 
last  night  that  Bracebridge  was  going  to  run  against  me 
in  the  mile  wheel  race,  but  I  had  no  idea  that  all  these 
fellows  were  going  to  enter." 

Winters,  of  course,  reported  all  he  had  heard  to  the 
committee  in  the  Philosophy  class-room.  Gregson's  con- 
sternation caused  some  amusement,  but  more  than  one 
was  nervous  as  to  results. 

"I  am  sorry  that  those  fellows  knew  yesterday  that 
Ambrose  would  be  pitted  against  Gregson.  That  they 
knew  this  so  much  earlier  than  we  intended  makes  me 
uneasy,"  said  Hunter. 

"Why  should  it?"  asked  Stapleton.  "There's  no  time 
now  for  extra  practices,  and  no  wheels  are  to  be  out  this 
morning." 

"Oh,  I  don't  know  why — I  can't  tell  why.  I  suppose 
I  am  fidgety.  Hello,  Bracebridge,  how  are  you?  In  good 
form,  eh  ?  Do  you  think  you  will  come  out  all  right 
this  afternoon?" 

"I  think  so,"  answered  Ambrose,  modestly;  "I  never 
felt  in  better  form.  My  nerves  are  under  perfect  control; 
generally,  I  may  say,  I'm  in  good  shape.  I  see  there  are 
eight  entries  for  the  mile  race.  Will  there  be  heats  ?" 

"No.  The  track  is  wide  enough  for  all  to  run  at  once," 
said  Howard.  "Good  luck,  old  fellow ;  I  should  advise 
you  not  to  attend  the  games  this  morning,  but  rest  for 
the  afternoon.  The  morning  events  are  only  for  novices 
and  for  the  small  boys,  chiefly.  Too  much  depends  on 
your  race  for  you  to  be  in  anything  but  the  pink  of  condi- 
tion when  you  start." 

It  was  as  Howard  had  said.    The  events  of  minor  im- 


126  THE  GREAT  DAT  ARRIVES. 

portance  came  off  in  the  morning.  The  great  events  were 
reserved  for  the  afternoon,  when  the  public  from  the  town 
would  be  admitted  to  the  grounds. 

During  the  forenoon  Fred  Nash's  base  running  against 
time  elicited  much  applause,  and  gained  the  first  prize  for 
those  who  were  trying  to  win  "for  principle's  sake." 
There  was  also  some  excellent  work  done  in  pole  vault- 
ing. To  Claude  Winters'  surprise  he  was  awarded  a  first. 
These  were  all  the  prizes  our  friends  captured  in  the 
morning. 

Gregson,  Ditson,  and  their  followers,  were  much  more 
successful.  Their  side  captured  the  long  standing  jump, 
which  was  won  by  Hollister.  The  first  prize  for  the 
sixty-five  yard  high  hurdle  was  lost  to  the  "committee," 
being  taken  in  very  fine  style  by  Gregson  himself.  The 
hop-step-and-jump  contest —  one  always  popular  with  St. 
Cuthbert  boys — was  well  contested.  Although  at  one 
time  it  appeared  that  Stapleton  was  likely  to  distance  all 
comers,  fortune  was  against  him.  He  was  defeated  by  an 
open  admirer  of  Gregson,  to  whose  side  went  also  the 
prizes  for  the  long  throw  and  the  high  jump. 

At  dinner  time,  results,  so  far,  did  not  look  very  en- 
couraging for  our  friends.  They  could  only  count  two 
victories,  while  their  opponents  already  counted  five.  To 
make  matters  more  critical,  by  dinner  time  all  the  boys  of 
the  college  fully  realized  that  the  competitors  were  divided 
into  two  distinct  camps.  Hunter  and  Stapleton  now  real- 
ized more  clearly  than  before  that  their  successes  would 
be  a  decided  moral  victory — that  if  their  camp  should 
come  out  triumphant  at  the  end  of  the  day,  their  influence 
would  be  firmly  established  for  the  rest  of  the  year. 

Hunter,  with  the  instincts  of  a  manager,  gave  orders 


THE  GREAT  DAT  ARRIVES.  127 

that  notwithstanding  the  tempting  first-class  feast  at  din- 
ner, those  who  were  to  .take  part  in  the  events  of  the 
afternoon  were  to  eat  sparingly  and  of  solid  food  only. 
After  dinner  they  were  to  rest  quietly  for  at  least  one 
hour. 

Every  one  who  knew  Claude  Winters  would  be  well 
aware  that  this  regulation  could  not  be  applied  to  him. 
All  day  long  he  was  like  quicksilver,  never  quiet  for  a 
moment.  His  excitement  kept  him  on  the  move,  whether 
he  had  anything  to  do  or  not.  But  had  not  Claude  already 
done  his  share  by  winning  one  prize? 

Stapleton  and  Hunter  were  not  very  much  disconcerted 
with  the  apparent  unfavorable  results  of  the  morning's 
work.  These  felt  certain  of  Gilkins'  two  gains  with  the 
hammer  and  the  stone  or  shot.  They  knew  also  that  the 
yard  attached  considerable  importance  to  these  two  trials 
of  strength.  This,  they  reckoned,  would  bring  the  tally- 
ing to  four  to  five. 

There  was  to  be  a  senior  relay  race  of  three  sets  of 
three  on  a  side,  but  as  the  Hunter  and  Gregson  elements 
were  mixed  indiscriminately  in  this  race  it  was  clear  there 
was  no  moral  influence  to  be  gained  or  lost  by  it.  Con- 
siderable importance  was  attached  to  the  standing  high 
jump  contest;  and  even  more  to  the  two  foot  races — four 
hundred  and  forty  yard  race,  and  the  other  a  hundred  yard 
dash..  For  all  these  our  friends  had  entered.  They  had 
also  arranged  that  Falvey,  Winters,  and  Roy  Henning 
should  enter  for  the  half  mile  wheel  race. 

Beyond  all  question  the  greatest  interest  of  the  day 
was  centered  on  the  mile  bicycle  race.  It  was  to  be  the 
great  race  of  the  day,  the  finish  and  climax  of  the  day's 
sports. 


128  THE  GREAT  DA7  ARRIVES. 

The  committee  were  agreed  that  to  win  that  would  be 
worth  winning  three  other  races  for  the  purpose  for  which 
they  were  working. 

It  can  easily  be  understood  how  anxious  they  were  that 
Ambrose  Bracebridge  should  be  in  good  form,  and  that 
he  should  keep  his  head  clear  and  his  nerves  steady.  At 
all  events  the  outlook,  so  far,  was  promising,  for  Brace- 
bridge  was  perfectly  cool,  easily  managed,  and  had  rested 
much  during  the  morning. 

'By  two  o'clock  the  grand  stand  was  well  filled  by  vis- 
itors from  town.  The  narrow  space  around  the  track  was 
filling  up  with  carriages  and  other  vehicles. 

The  first  event  after  dinner  was  the  standing  high  jump. 
It  was  lost  to  our  friends,  much  to  their  chagrin. 

"Six  to  two,"  said  Winters  dolefully  to  Henning.  But 
in  the  hundred  yard  dash  fortune  turned  in  their  favor. 
Roy  Henning  came  in  first,  perhaps  as  much  to  his  own 
surprise  as  to  his  competitors',  for  until  last  summer's 
vacation  he  had  been  considered  more  or  less  of  a  weak- 
ling. He  ran  well  and  was  cheered  by  all. 

The  four  hundred  and  forty  yard  race  was  also  won  by 
a  member  of  the  ''committee."  Fred  Nash's  long  stride 

stood  him  in  good  stead  here. 

"Cheer  up,  Claudie,"  said  Hunter,  to  that  mercurial 
boy.  "You  see  it's  six  to  four  now.  Better  things  are 
coming." 

Then  came  the  contests  in  which  Gilkins  had  promised 
victory.  Stapleton,  Hollister,  and  a  big  fellow,  almost 
as  big  as  Gilkins  himself,  named  Black,  were  the  four 
who  entered  the  two  contests  of  throwing  the  sledge  and 
putting  the  shot.  Black  was  an  admirer  of  Gregson,  so 
the  sides  were  equally  divided. 


THE  GREAT  DAT  ARRIVES.  129 

Having  entered  these  competitions  last,  Gilkins  claimed 
the  right  to  throw  last.  Some  good  work  had  been  done 
in  the  sledge  throwing  already,  but  when  Gilkins  took 
hold  of  the  big  sledge  he  handled  it  in  so  masterly  a 
fashion  that  everybody  saw  he  meant  victory. 

He  wore  a  sleeveless  thin  undershirt.  It  was  a  fine 
sight  to  see  the  play  of  his  back  and  chest  muscles,  and 
his  well-knit  arms  in  action. 

With  the  swing  of  a  giant  he  sent  the  heavy  sledge  high 
in  the  air,  landing  it  three  and  a  half  feet  beyond  Black's 
mark. 

The  boys  simply  screamed  with  delight.  The  ladies 
fluttered  their  handkerchiefs  from  the  grand  stand.  Gil- 
kins  took  no  notice  of  all  the  applause.  Turning  to  Staple- 
ton,  who  was  close  by,  he  said: 

"That's  one  out  of  the  two.  Say  a  Hail  Mary  for  my 
next  success,  for  I'm  terribly  anxious  to  be  as  good  as 
my  word  and  win  both." 

The  good  old  chaplain's  influence  on  the  big  rough  boy 
,vas  beginning  to  work.  He  would  have  laughed  a  year 
igo — six  months  ago — had  he  heard  such  a  remark,  on  a 
sports  day,  as  he  himself  had  just  made  use  of.  He  was, 
as  Hunter  early  in  the  year  predicted,  getting  more  and 
more  under  the  St.  Cuthbert's  influence. 

He  was  as  good  as  his  word.  He  won  the  shot  putting 
contest  with  even  more  ease  than  he  had  the  previous 
trial. 

"Six  to  six !  Tie !  Whoop-la !"  screamed  the  irrepress- 
ible Claude  Winters. 

"The  next  event  will  be  the  mile  relay  race  in  three 
thirds  by  three  sets,"  the  man  at  the  megaphone  informed 
the  occupants  of  the  grand  stand. 


130  TEE  GREAT  DAY  ARRIVES. 

As  this  relay  race  took  some  time  to  get  ready,  we  will, 
while  the  band  is  playing,  endeavor  to  describe  it  for  the 
benefit  of  those  young  readers  who  have  never  seen  one. 
This  is  the  way  the  race  is  run: 

Three  men  comprise  one  set.  One  is  at  the  starting 
point,  another  is  stationed  a  third  of  the  way  along  the 
mile  track,  while  the  third  man  is  two-thirds  of  a  mile  from 
the  starting  point.  The  man  at  the  line  runs  a  third  oi 
a  mile  to  the  man  waiting  for  him  and  whom  the  runner 
must  touch.  The  second  man  then  starts  at  his  greatest 
speed  and  touches  the  man  at  the  two-thirds  of  a  mile 
point.  This  third  man  runs  home.  Thus,  although  a  mile 
is  run  in  the  race,  yet  each  of  the  three  runners  covers 
only  one-third  of  that  distance.  The  judges  of  this  race 
generally  demand  that  a  piece  of  white  silk  or  a  handker- 
chief shall  change  hands  to  prevent  the  starter  moving 
before  the  runner  has  covered  his  ground.  As  the  track 
at  St.  Cuthbert's,  at  the  time,  was  a  quarter  mile  course, 
the  spectators  had  a  good  opportunity  of  witnessing  the 
race  at  rather  close  range,  something  that  cannot  be  done 
so  conveniently  when  the  track  is  longer. 

Both  sets  of  contestants  had  entered  the  relay  race,  so 
our  friends  had  no  particular  interest  in  the  result,  beyond 
witnessing  a  fine  piece  of  athletics. 

Then  came  the  three  bicycle  races  of  the  day.  As  they 
are  so  important  and  have  so  much  bearing  on  our  story, 
we  will  devote  to  them  a  new  chapter. 


SOME  TRACK  EVENTS.  131 


CHAPTER  XV. 

SOME  TRACK  EVENTS. 

HAD  the  gentlemen  invited  to  act  as  judges,  starter, 
=md  timekeeper,  had  the  choosing  of  the  weather,  they 
could  not  have  selected  a  better  day  for  an  October  bicycle 
meet.  All  day  it  had  been  warm  and  summer-like.  The 
sky  had  remained  a  deep  clear  blue.  During  the  after- 
noon the  temperature  fell  somewhat.  A  fresh  breeze 
sprang  up,  sufficient  to  make  cheeks  look  rosy  and  eyes 
sparkle.  It  kept  the  scarfs  and  wraps  and  laces  in  the 
grand  stand,  as  well  as  numberless  little  blue  and  white 
flags  all  over  the  field,  in  constant  fluttering  motion.  The 
track  was  in  excellent  condition.  Everybody  was  eager 
for  the  great  sport  of  the  day  to  begin,  and  regretting  that 
only  three  senior  races  were  to  be  witnessed. 

It  was  an  animated  and  beautiful  scene  when,  promptly 
at  the  close  of  the  relay  race,  the  wheelmen  and  their 
voluntary  attendants  came  upon  the  ground.  The  autumn 
tints  of  the  trees  surrounding  the  field,  ablaze  with  the 
rich  colors  of  the  dying  year;  the  diversified  costumes  of 
the  lady  visitors  who  occupied  the  grand  stand  and  the 
carriages  which  filled  every  available  site  around  the 
track,  the  numerous  flags,  all  combined  to  give  a  festive 
appearance  to  the  occasion. 

The  different  bright  colors  of  the  long  blanket  coats  in 
which  many  of  the  riders  were  enveloped  previous  to  the 
start,  helped  to  add  gaiety  to  the  scene.  Some  of  these 


132  SOME  TRACK  EVENTS. 

coats  were  striped  with  all  colors,  some  were  a  bright 
red,  some  light  blue,  and  many  were  pure  white.  No 
attempt  to  discard  them  was  made  by  any  one  until  imme- 
diately before  the  starting  of  the  race.  This  was  done  to 
prevent  the  racers'  muscles  becoming  stiff  and  sore  by 
being  chilled  before  the  race  began. 

All  the  racers  came  on  the  field  at  one  time.  The 
audience  cheered  loudly,  waving  flags  and  handkerchiefs. 
For  a  few  minutes  there  was  a  deluge  of  noise,  accom- 
panied by  a  rich  panorama  of  changing  colors. 

The  first  race  was  a  quarter  mile  dash  of  the  junior 
division,  but  as  we  are  at  present  more  interested  in  the 
seniors'  races,  we  ask  pardon  of  the  little  fellows  for  not 
giving  a  detailed  account  of  their  races. 

There  were  four  entries  in  the  senior  quarter  mile  run. 
Claude  Winters  and  Roy  Henning  represented  the  Hun- 
terites.  Grossmith  and  Alberton  were  the  Gregsonites. 
The  contest  was  close.  The  race  was  well  run.  For 
nearly  the  whole  distance  the  four  were  well  bunched. 
As  the  riders  turned  into  the  home  stretch,  the  clerk  of 
the  course  sounded  a  bell  as  a  signal  for  the  final  spun. 
Winters  and  Alberton  shot  ahead  of  the  others  a  wheel's 
length.  Neck  and  neck  they  rode  for  half  the  length  of 
the  home  stretch.  Then  Claude  saw  with  chagrin 
that  Alberton  was  drawing  ahead  in  the  last  hundred 
yards. 

He  put  forth  all  his  powers,  but  his  opponent  had  a 
greater  reserve  strength,  and  used  it  at  the  right  moment. 
Claude  came  in  second,  less  than  one  foot  behind  the 
victor. 

"Too  bad,  Claude !"  said  Stapleton.  "If  you  had  had  the 
sense  to  follow  Manager  Hunter's  advice,  and  not  run 


SOME  TRACK  EVENTS.  133 

around  all  day  like  a  kitten  after  its  tail,  you  would  have 
won  that  race." 

"I  know  it,"  said  Winters.  He  had  at  the  moment 
such  a  comically  rueful  face  that  all  his  friends  burst  out 
laughing. 

"I  know  it,  but  to-day  I  simply  could  not  keep  still." 

"What's  our  score  now?"  asked  Clavering,  rather 
anxiously. 

"Seven  to  six  against  us,"  replied  Claude,  sorrowfully. 
"But  never  mind,  Stapleton  is  going  to  win  the  next,  you'll 
see." 

So  he  did.  Stapleton  was  pitted  against  four  others. 
It  was  seen  from  the  first  that  he  was  by  far  the  best  man. 
He  led  with  ease.  In  consequence,  this  race  from  the 
start  lacked  that  interest  of  excitement  as  a  contest, 
although  it  brought  the  two  camps  to  a  tie  on  the  number 
of  victories  gained. 

There  was  intense  excitement  among  the  boys  and  also 
among  the  occupants  of  the  grand  stand  when  the  last 
and  great  race  of  the  day  was  announced  through  the 
megaphone. 

The  bell  called  the  contestants  to  the  judges'  stand. 
Off  went  every  blanket  coat  and  eight  strong,  healthy, 
well-formed,  handsome  boys  stood  at  their  wheels.  There 
was  a  great  clapping  of  hands,  cheering,  and  blowing  of, 
certainly  not  musical,  tin  trumpets  when  the  riders  ap- 
peared in  various  colored  riding  shirts  and  caps.  Several 
of  the  boys  turned  to  the  grand  stand  and  touched  their 
caps.  As  Ambrose  Bracebridge  did  this,  he  caught  sight 
of  Major  and  Mrs.  Bracebridge  and  his  sister  Rose.  The 
party  had  driven  over  from  Rosecroft  Manor  to  "witness 
the  races.  As  he  caught  his  sister's  eye,  she  clapped  her 


134  SOME  TRACK  EVENTS. 

hands  and  waved  her  little  blue  and  white  flag  in  encour- 
agement to  her  brother  and  his  friends. 

"Attention,  please,"  said  an  official,  from  the  judges' 
stand.  "The  judges  have  drawn  lots  for  positions  in  the 
race.  They  are  as  follows:  Black  has  the  pole,  pink, 
purple,  blue,  yellow,  white,  mauve,  green." 

This  meant  that  Gregson,  whose  color  was  black,  had 
the  pole;  Bracebridge,  pink;  John  Black,  purple;  Selby, 
blue;  Clavering,  yellow;  Hollister,  white;  Hunter,  mauve; 
and  Nash,  green. 

"You  will  all  please  go  a  hundred  yards  down  the  home 
stretch,  examine  your  wheels,  and  at  a  signal  will  mount 
there.  Now,  gentlemen,  the  sun  is  getting  low,  so  try 
to  pass  under  the  wire  in  a  bunch  for  a  good  start  at 
once." 

When  the  examination  of  the  wheels  was  completed 
even  to  the  testing  of  the  oscillation,  Gregson  said: 

"Wait,  please.  Will  some  one  lend  me  a  wrench?  My 
right  pedal  seems  a  little  loose." 

"Where  is  your  own?"  asked  Selby. 

"Confound  it,  I  have  lost  it  and  cannot  find  it  any- 
where." 

A  wrench  was  handed  to  him  by  one  of  the  bystanders. 
In  two  minutes  he  was  ready. 

"Are  you  ready,  gentlemen? — Go." 

All  got  in  motion  well  and  reached  the  wire  in  good 
form. 

"Go!" 

"They  are  off!  They  have  started!  There  they  go! 
Hurrah!"  A  thousand  shouts  and  cheers  came  from  the 
spectators  in  the  grand  stand  and  around  the  field.  Those 
who  did  not  shout  used  their  trumpets  vociferously.  As 


SOME  TRACK  EVENTS.  135 

if  to  help  along  the  wheelmen  the  band  started  up  a 
lively  gallop.  Laces  fluttered,  parasols,  handkerchiefs  and 
little  flags  waved  in  the  breeze.  The  scene  was  one  of 
animation  and  beauty.  What  a  hum  of  excitement  there 
was,  as  the  large,  fashionably  dressed  gathering  watched 
the  bits  of  flying  color! 

.  The  track,  as  has  been  said,  was  a  quarter  of  a  mile 
in  length.    The  racers  had,  therefore,  to  make  four  laps. 

As  soon  as  the  race  had  started,  Claude  Winters  and 
Roy  Henning  crossed  the  track  and  wormed  their  way 
into  the  grand  stand  to  where  their  friends  Mr.  and  Mrs. 
and  Rose  Bracebridge  were  seated. 

"Who  is  that  boy  with  the  black  cap  and  black  shirt?" 
asked  Rose  Bracebridge,  after  the  handshaking. 

"That's  Gregson/'  replied  Claude.  "He  is  Ambrose's 
opponent,  and  we  are  all  afraid  of  him." 

"Oh,  I  do  hope  Ambrose  will  win,"  said  the  enthusi- 
astic young  lady. 

"You  do  not  wish  it  more  than  we  do,  does  she,  Roy?" 

"But  he's  my  brother,  you  know." 

"And  he's  our — our  champion." 

"Oh!" 

The  eight  bunched  well  together  for  the  first  half  of  the 
first  round.  All  appeared  to  be  saving  themselves.  Com- 
ing down  the  home  stretch  all  bunched  again  for  a  spurt. 
At  the  beginning  of  the  next  lap  the  real  race  began.  At 
the  beginning  of  the  second  quarter  Gregson  stretched 
away,  with  Bracebridge  on  his  back  wheel.  Both  grad- 
ually drew  away  from  the  other  six.  The  race  was  evi- 
dently to  be  between  these  two. 

Suddenly,  at  one-third  of  the  second  quarter,  Hunter 
pulled  out  from  among  the  stragglers.  By  a  strong  spurt 


136  SOME  TRACK  EVENTS. 

he  came  close  to  the  two  leaders.  Bracebridge  had 
gained  considerably  in  the  second  quarter.  As  the  two 
leaders  came  under  the  wire  a  second  time,  Bracebridge 
was  not  more  than  twelve  inches  behind  his  rival.  Hun- 
ter was  a  wheel's  length  behind. 

A  tornado  of  cheers  sent  the  racers  on  the  third  round. 
In  the  beginning  of  this  lap,  purple  and  yellow,  that 
is,  Clavering  and  Black,  gradually  dropped  behind  and 
gave  up. 

Hunter  found  he  had  not  the  staying  qualities  of  the 
other  two,  and  had  to  drop  back  to  Nash.  Well,  mauve 
and  green  go  well  together. 

It  was  now  a  race  between  black  and  pink.  No  other 
colors  attracted  any  attention.  The  third  quarter  was  run 
neck  and  neck  all  around  the  course.  In  the  first  quarter 
of  the  third  lap  Bracebridge  was  six  inches  ahead  of 
Gregson.  In  the  second  quarter  he  changed  places  with 
his  rival.  In  the  third,  he  changed  again,  and  in  coming 
under  the  wire  at  the  judges'  stand  for  the  commence- 
ment of  the  fourth  and  last  round,  it  would  have  been  im- 
possible to  say  which  was  ahead.  Both  seemed  to  have 
got  what  is  called  their  second  wind,  when  the  lungs  have 
adapted  themselves  to  the  work,  and  the  race  then  relies 
on  skill  and  muscle.  The  two  well  knew  that  the  real 
work  of  the  race  was  to  be  done  in  the  fourth  round, 
which  was  begun  amid  a  perfect  torrent  of  shouts, 
screams  and  trumpet  blasts. 

Major  Bracebridge  became  so  enthusiastic  that  he 
could  not  sit  still. 

"Wait  here,  mamma — and  you,  too,  Rose — I  must  go 
down  on  the  track  to  be  close  when  this  fine  race  finishes. 
Dear  me,  I  did  not  dream  there  was  such  excitement  in 


SOME  TRACK  EVENTS.  137 

bicycle  racing!  Who  would  have  thought  that  Ambrose 
could  have  raced  like  this!" 

"Come  up  on  the  judges'  stand,  major,"  said  one  of  the 
judges  of  the  races. 

"No,  no,  thanks!  I'm  too  interested — too  partial  to 
be  up  there  just  now.  Some  other  time.  Thanks, 
though!" 

"Hurrah,  hurrah  !  Go  it,  pink !  Go  it,  Bracebridge  ! 
Give  it  to  him,  Gregson!  Down  him,  Bracebridge!  Rah! 
for  Ambrose!" 

The  grand  stand  was  wild  with  excitement.  The  boys, 
crowded  out  of  the  grand  stand  by  the  numbers  of  visi- 
torsf  lined  the  track  on  both  sides.  It  seemed  wonderful 
that  these  boys  could  produce  such  a  volume  of  sound. 

The  two  racers  were  now  pale  from  excitement  and 
the  physical  exertion.  Their  hearts  and  lungs  must  be 
sound  to  stand  so  great  a  strain.  There  was  a  look  of 
determination  on  each  face.  Bracebridge  knew  Gregson 
was  a  good  wheelman,  but  he  did  not  imagine  that  he 
had  such  good  staying  qualities  as  he  was  now  showing. 

The  half  distance  was  reached.  Both  began  to  prepare 
for  the  final  spurt.  They  were  riding  in  good  form,  with 
handle  bars  well  down  and  bodies  far  over  the  front  wheel. 

The  two  had  already  turned  into  the  rather  long  home 
stretch,  when  Gregson  began  suddenly  to  forge  ahead. 
Now  was  the  time  for  all  of  Ambrose's  reserve  powers. 
He  put  them  forth.  He  knew  that  he  was  within  his  own 
strength,  but  realizing,  at  the  same  time,  that  there  was 
considerable  strain  on  the  wheel. 

What  was  the  matter?  He  saw  with  dismay  that  Greg- 
son  was  surely  gaining.  At  that  moment  he  caught  sight 
of  his  opponent's  face.  It  had  a  look  which  Ambrose 


138  SOME  TRACK  EVENTS. 

never  forgot.  Gregson's  white  teeth,  as  the  lips  were 
curled  away,  appeared  to  be  actually  snarling.  The  face 
looked  horrible.  There  was  a  glitter  in  the  eyes  which 
could  not  result  from  the  triumph  of  winning. 

To  Bracebridge's  surprise,  he  now  found  that  when  he 
began  to  strain  his  wheel  for  the  last  heavy  spurt,  it  did 
not  respond  to  his  efforts.  The  wheel  rattled.  It  seemed 
in  some  way  loose.  Whether  in  the  gearing,  pedals,  or 
spokes,  the  rider  could  not  tell.  Something  was  wrong. 
His  rival  was  now  a  good  foot  ahead. 

Bracebridge  put  out  all  the  physical  strength  he  pos- 
sessed as  he  sped  along  the  home  stretch.  It  was  no  use. 
The  wheel  would  no  longer  properly  respond  to  his  touch. 
Pale  and  panting,  the  two  rushed  beneath  the  wire. 
Bracebridge  had  lost  by  half  a  wheel's  length. 

The  shouts  and  screams  of  the  sightseers  increased, 
but  most  of  the  noise  came  now  from  a  sense  of  disap- 
pointment. The  pink  rider,  from  the  first,  had  been  the 
favorite. 

As  the  two  passed  the  judges'  stand,  Gregson  raised 
his  hand,  jockey  fashion,  and  shouted : 

"I  have  won — fairly." 

Bracebridge  slackened  at  once.  Going  to  the  stand 
he  said  quietly,  but  firmly: 

"I  protest  the  race,  gentlemen." 

"What !"  said  his  father.  "Don't  be  foolish,  boy.  You 
have  lost.  Take  your  defeat  like  a  man.  Don't  be  a — " 
Baby,  he  was  going  to  say,  but  was  interrupted  by  his 
son.  "Father,  believe  me.  Trust  me  this  once.  I  have 
reason  for  doing  as  I  do  now." 

With  perfect  self-possession  he  again  turned  to  the 
judges.  "I  protest  the  race,  gentlemen,"  he  repeated. 


SOME  TRACK  EVENTS,  139 

There  was  a  certain  dignity  in  the  boy's  manner.  Major 
Bracebridge  at  once  realized  that  his  son  was  no  longer  a 
child.  The  father  saw  the  young  man  was  old  enough 
to  manage  his  own  affairs. 

"All  right,  Ambrose.  I  trust  you,  my  son.  You  have 
never  deceived  me." 

"And  never  will,  sir;  you  may  rely  on  that." 

Just  then  Gregson  returned  in  time  to  hear  the  words 
from  one  of  the  judges. 

"Judgment  will  not  be  given  until  to-morrow." 

Gregson  had  not  heard  Ambrose's  protest.  At  the 
judge's  words  he  started  as  if  stung.  His  lips  turned 
ashen  gray.  Without  a  word  he  rode  off  the  field,  but 
not  before  Mr.  Shalford's  eyes  had  looked  him  through 
and  through. 

"Give  me  your  wheel,  Bracebridge,"  said  Claude  Win- 
ters, as  some  one  helped  the  loser  of  the  race  to  get  into 
his  big  woolen  coat. 

"No,  Claude,  don't  touch  it." 

He  had  reason  for  acting  thus,  which  he  explained 
afterward.  Turning  to  his  father,  he  said : 

"Papa,  will  you  excuse  me  to  mother  and  Rose?  I 
cannot  go  over  to  them  now.  I  will  ask  permission  to 
come  home  on  my  wheel  next  Sunday  instead." 

Bracebridge,  Stapleton,  and  Winters,  trundled  their 
wheels  off  the  grounds,  with  difficulty  threading  their  way 
amid  the  departing  concourse  of  people. 


140  SOME  DISCOVERIES. 

CHAPTER  XVI. 

SOME  DISCOVERIES. 

THE  greatest  excitement  prevailed  among  the  boys  over 
the  result  of  the  great  mile  race.  Groups  of  threes  and 
fours  were  scattered  about  the  yard,  all  earnestly  discuss- 
ing it.  Why  had  Bracebridge  protested  ?  Was  it  merely 
because  he  was  vexed  at  losing  a  well-contested  race? 
Many  thought  he  was  not  that  kind  of  a  boy.  There  were 
some,  however,  who  were  inclined  to  attribute  this  rather 
low  motive  to  him,  but  by  far  the  greater  number  were 
convinced  that  he  had  some  good  reason  for  making  the 
protest.  Even  some  of  his  friends  of  the  Philosophy  class, 
not  understanding  him,  began  to  waver  and  to  think  that 
after  all  they  had,  perhaps,  taken  up  with  the  wrong  sort 
of  man. 

Before  leaving,  the  judges  had  informed  Mr.  Shalford 
that,  as  far  as  their  knowledge  went,  they  saw  no  reason 
why  the  mile  race  should  not  be  awarded  to  Gregson. 
Everything,  so  far  as  they  were  in  a  position  to  judge, 
had  been  fair.  They  thought  the  contestants  had  been 
well  matched.  Altogether  it  had  been  a  most  enjoyable 
race.  They  regretted  a  protest  had  been  entered. 

There  was  no  time  left  to  investigate  that  evening.  As 
they  had  publicly  announced  that  their  decision  would  be 
reserved,  they  requested  the  prefect  not  to  say  anything 
about  this  race  until  the  next  day,  giving  him  full  liberty, 
if  anything  were  discovered  in  the  meantime,  to  take  the 
awarding  of  the  decision  into  his  own  hands,  promising 
to  ratify  any  action  he  might  take. 


SOME  DISCOVERIES.  141 

The  distribution  of  the  senior  prizes  took  place  in  the 
gymnasium  after  supper,  amid  much  cheering  and  clap- 
ping of  hands  in  honor  of  the  winners.  Claude  Winters 
had  an  opportunity  of  realizing  that  he  was  a  popular  boy 
at  school,  by  the  ovation  he  received  when  he  went  up 
to  the  platform  to  receive  his  prize  for  the  pole  vaulting. 

"And  now,"  said  Mr.  Shalford,  when  all  was  done,  "  as 
the  result  of  the  mile  bicycle  race  has  been  objected  to, 
the  judges'  decision  on  that  event  will  not  be  given  until 
to-morrow." 

There  was  an  audible  hiss  from  some  of  Gregson's 
friends.  Mr.  Shalford  looked  annoyed  and  vexed. 

"It's  my  prize,"  said  Gregson.  "I  won  it  fairly,  and  I'd 
like  to  see  any  one  keep  me  out  of  it." 

"Perhaps  you  did,"  said  Fred  Nash,  who  was  standing 
in  the  crowd  behind  Gregson,  who  turned  fiercely  around. 

"What  do  you  mean  by  'perhaps'?  You  can't  prove  I 
didn't  win  fairly." 

"Perhaps  I  cannot,"  said  Nash. 

"Why,  hang  it,  man!  if  you  have  anything  against  me, 
out  with  it.  I  can  clear  myself  of  all  you  can  say." 

"Perhaps,"  again  said  the  enigmatic  Nash.  He  then 
added  in  a  clear,  well-heard  undertone,  as  if  talking  to 
himself: 

"How  terribly  anxious  this  fellow  is  to -clear  himself 
before  any  one  accuses  him.  It's  my  belief  that  if  he  is 
given  rope  enough  he'll  hang  himself." 

The  chance  shot  went  home.  Gregson  turned  deathly 
pale,  and,  as  some  of  the  boys  who  were  closest  to  him 
said  afterward,  his  lips  looked  actually  blue  in  the  elec- 
tric light. 

Mr.  Shalford  had  overheard  these  remarks.    From  be- 


142  SOME  DISCOVERIES. 

neath  his  thick,  bushy  eyebrows,  he  cast  on  Gregson  a 
most  piercing  glance,  under  which  the  boy  seemed  to 
quail. 

"Gregson,"  he  said,  "please  come  up  here." 

The  boys  around  Gregson  made  way  for  him  to  mount 
the  low  platform  at  the  end  of  the  room. 

"Now,  my  boy,"  said  the  prefect,  kindly,  "I  want  you  to 
understand  that  I  have  no  doubt  whatever  that  you  won 
the  race  fairly,  but  why  do  you  so  frequently  state  this 
fact,  and  when  no  one  has  challenged  it?  You  remember 
at  the  very  moment  of  finishing  the  last  lap  you  said  the 
same  thing." 

"Well,  the  decision  was  challenged." 

"Not  then." 

"But  it  is  now." 

"Yes,  but  no  one  charges  you  with  unfairness?" 

The  boy  was  silent.  Telegraphic  glances  had  been 
passing  between  Bracebridge  and  Hunter  while  this  con- 
versation was  progressing.  When  Gregson  became  silent, 
Hunter  said: 

"Now  is  your  time,  Ambrose,"  and  pushed  him  toward 
the  platform. 

"I  would  like  to  make  a  statement,  sir,  if  you  will  allow 
me,"  said  the  boy. 

"Certainly,  Bracebridge.    What  is  it?    Come  up  here.*' 

"I  entered  a  protest  with  the  judges,  sir,  because  my 
wheel,  on  the  fourth  round,  acted  in  a  most  strange 
manner." 

"And  that  was  my  fault,  I  suppose,"  interposed  Greg- 
son. 

"Wait  a  minute,  please.  I  don't  accuse  you  or  any- 
body. I  merely  state  that  my  wheel  acted  strangely." 


SOME  DISCOVERIES.  143 

"What  do  you  mean  by  that?"  asked  the  prefect. 

"I  mean,  sir,  that  it  became  loose  in  the  spokes,  rattled, 
and  appeared  as  if  it  were  going  to  pieces —  and,  of  course, 
lost  speed." 

"You  mean,  you  played  out,"  said  Gregson. 

"Wait,  please,  until  I  have  finished.  I  said  before  that 
I  do  not  accuse  you.  Well,  sir,  I  went  at  once  and  thor- 
oughly examined  my  machine." 

"And  found  the  going  to  pieces  all  in  your  imagina- 
tion?" said  Mr.  Shalford. 

"No,  sir.  I  found  my  wheel  had — been — tampered — 
with!" 

"A-ah!"  came  the  long,  spontaneous  sound  of  excite- 
ment from  the  now  thoroughly  excited  crowd  of  boys. 

"Be  quiet,  boys.  Let  us  hear  the  end  of  this  story.  I 
guess  your  imagination  must  have  been  playing  you  a 
trick  after  all,  Bracebridge;  but  go  on." 

"I  went  at  once  to  the  wheel-room  with  my  wheel.  I 
found,  sir,  that  about  one-fourth  of  the  spokes  had  been 
loosened,  while  one- fourth  at  the  opposite  side  to  those 
loosened  appeared  to  have  been  tightened,  so  as  to  throw 
the  axle  out  of  center." 

"Impossible!  You  couldn't  have  ridden  on  such  a 
wheel !" 

"But  I  did,  sir.  The  way  I  managed  to  do  so  seems 
to  be  this.  The  wheel  is  a  high-priced  one  of  splendid 
workmanship,  so  everything  hung  together  until  the  really 
heavy  strain  of  the  last  spurt  was  put  upon  it.  Then  the 
spokes  of  the  loosened  part  began  to  work  in  the  holes 
of  the  wooden  groove  which  holds  the  tire.  Under  ordi- 
nary weight  and  ordinary  pedaling,  there  was  not  suf- 
ficient strain  to  tell,  but,  as  I  said  before,  when  I  began 


U4  SOME  DISCOVERIES. 

in  the  last  lap  to  put  all  my  strength  into  the  wheel,  the 
whole  machine  began  to  get  awry." 

"Oh,  yes,"  sneered  Gregson,  "Bracebridge  is  a  rich 
man's  son  and  therefore  you  believe  all  that  he  says.  I 
get  no  credit  for  what  I  say." 

"Don't  talk  nonsense,"  said  the  prefect  sharply. 

"Well,  then,  that  fairy  story  of  Bracebridge's  to  cheat 
me  out  of  the  prize  is  the  evidence  of  only  one  man.  I 
say  I  won  fairly.  So  it's  one  to  one  after  all.  All  this 
which  he  says  was  done  to  his  wheel,  if  it  were  done,  might 
have  been  done  after  the  race." 

"I  thought  some  one  might  possibly  say  that,  sir,"  said 
Ambrose  quietly,  "so  I  took  the  precaution  to  have  wit- 
nesses. Stapleton  and  Winters  examined  the  wheel  with 
me  right  after  the  race.  The  wheel  did  not  leave  my 
hands  until  I  had  thoroughly  examined  it.  But  be  their 
testimony  what  it  may,  I  claim  the  right  to  be  believed." 

"Ho!  you  do,"  said  Gregson,  "why  you  more  than 
oth— " 

"Because  I  always  speak  the  truth.  I  am  not  accus- 
tomed to  lie — that's  why!"  answered  Ambrose  quickly. 

The  excited  listeners  cheered  this  outspoken  declara- 
tion of  his  claim  for  credibility.  They  saw  that  it  was 
given  with  a  natural  dignity  which  was  devoid  of  all  tinge 
of  priggishness.  It  was  the  simple  claim  of  an  upright 
character.  Had  there  been  the  slightest  suspicion  among 
the  boys  that  he  was  "posing"  he  could  not  have  retained 
their  confidence  for  five  minutes.  Gregson  lapsed  into 
silence.  Stapleton  and  Winters  confirmed  the  testimony 
of  the  first  witness.  They  had  no  doubt  but  that  the  wheel 
had  been  tampered  with,  because,  they  said,  that  in  tight- 
ening or  loosening  the  nuts  which  held  the  spokes,  the 


SOME  DISCOVERIES.  145 

wooden  groove  of  the  wheel  had  been  very  much 
scratched,  and  in  some  places  even  dinged.  The  other 
two  opposite  fourths  of  the  wheel  which  had  not  been 
touched  were  free  from  marks  or  scratches  of  any  kind. 

It  was  quite  evident  now  to  the  boys  that  a  very  mean 
trick  had  been  done  by  some  one.  Who  was  the  cul- 
prit? The  difficulties  of  the  case  were  not  lessened  when 
Mr.  Shalford  said: 

"Well,  whom  do  you  accuse?" 

"No  one,  sir,"  answered  Ambrose.  "I  merely  state 
what  I  have  found  out,  and  my  reason  for  entering  the 
protest." 

"And  I,"  said  Gregson,  "knowing  nothing  of  this 
alleged  tampering  with  his  wheel,  claim  to  have  won 
fairly.  When  I  heard  he  had  protested  I  repeated  my 
claim  that  I  had  fairly  won  the  race.  That's  all  there  is 
in  it." 

"Perhaps,"  said  Fred  Nash,  from  among  the  audience, 
in  imitation  of  the  "Nevermore"  of  Poe's  Raven. 

"Oh,  you  shut  up,  Nash,"  from  Gregson.  "You  are  not 
interested  in  this  thing." 

"Perhaps !"  Fred  again  repeated  sonorously.  His  one 
word  was,  for  some  reason,  like  a  lash  to  Gregson's  back. 
It  appeared  to  the  "committee"  that  every  time  the  claim- 
ant for  the  prize  heard  it,  he  winced  under  it. 

"It  is  a  peculiar  case,"  said  the  prefect.  "I  cannot 
do  anything  until  there  are  more  developments.  Was 
there  ever  anything  the  matter  with  your  wheel  before?" 

"Never,  sir,"  said  Bracebridge.  "I  have  had  it  a  year. 
Last  summer  I  made  a  century  with  it." 

"Well,  we  must  now  postpone  further  investigation," 
said  Mr.  Shalford.  "But  I  hope,  for  the  credit  of  St. 


146  SOME  DISCOVERIES. 

Cuthbert's,  it  will  turn  out  all  right.  I  am  loath  to  be- 
lieve that  any  student  here  would  do  a  dastardly  act. 
There  is  a  mystery  about  it.  We  must  wait." 

Just  at  this  moment  there  was  a  commotion  at  the  other 
end  of  the  gymnasium,  near  the  door.  Claude  Winters, 
in  order  to  see  better  what  was  going  on,  mounted  the 
vaulting  horse.  Others  seated  themselves  on  the  hori- 
zontal bars,  climbing  ladders,  and  other  apparatus  of  the 
gymnasium. 

"Look,  look,  Frank!"  said  Winters,  who  from  his 
elevated  position  could  see  over  the  heads  of  the  boys. 
"If  there  isn't  Ernie  and  another  boy  from  the  small  yard, 
standing  at  the  door.  Go,  Frank,  and  see'  what  they 
want." 

Stapleton  pushed  his  way  through  the  mass  of  boys  to 
the  two  little  fellows.  All  eyes  were  now  turned  to  the 
two  boys  who  stood  rather  timidly  on  the  doorstep. 
Owing  to  the  strict  separation  between  the  juniors  and 
seniors,  Ernest  Winters  and  his  companion  had  never  yet 
been  in  the  large  boys'  gymnasium. 

"What's  up,  Ernie?"  asked  Stapleton.  "Why  do  you 
come  over  here?  Mr.  Silverton  will  catch  you." 

"We've  got  a  letter  for  Mr.  Shalford,"  said  Ernest. 

"You  have?  Then  come  along.  These  fellows  won't 
hurt  or  eat  you." 

Frank  conducted  them  through  the  crowd  of  boys  to 
the  platform. 

"What's  the  matter,  Ernest?  Have  you  been  getting 
into  trouble?" 

Claude  was  all  excitement  now.  Jumping  from  the 
vaulting  horse  he  went  over  to  his  brother,  who  answered : 

"No,  but  Mr.  Silverton  sent  us  over  'cause  we  know 


SOME  DISCOVERIES.  147 

something.     He  told  us  to  tell  it  to  Mr.  Shalford.     He 
gave  me  this  letter  for  him." 

The  letter  was  a  penciled,  folded  note,  and  ran  thus  : 

"These  little  fellows  seem  to  know  something  about  that 
race,  so  I  send  them  to  you.  You  may  trust  implicitly  all 
they  say.  S." 

"Well,  Ernest,  what  have  you  to  say?  Do  not  be  afraid 
to  speak  out." 

"I'm  not  afraid,  sir,"  he  replied.  Nevertheless  he  held 
Claude's  hand  tightly,  as  if  for  protection,  as  he  faced  the 
sea  of  faces,  all  eager  to  hear  his  story. 

"Last  night,  sir,"  began  the  boy  who  had  once  been 
so  nearly  kidnapped,  "I  was  looking  out  of  the  stair  win- 
dow in  our  building  across  the  yard  at  the  bicycle  shed." 

"At  what  time?"  asked  the  prefect. 

"It  was  about  twenty  minutes  before  the  end  of  studies 
of  the  last  hour." 

"But,  my  boy,  how  is  it  that  you  were  on  the  stairs  at 
that  time  and  not  in  your  study-hall?" 

"The  study-keeper  gave  me  leave  to  go  down  to  the 
play-room  to  feed  my  rabbits.  I  forgot  to  do  that  at 
recess." 

"Go  on." 

"I  saw  a  big  boy  come  to  the  wheel-room  shed,  and 
stand  on  a  box  and  lift  out  the  little  window  in  the  back 
wall.  Then  he  got  up  on  the  sill  and  wriggled  himself 
through  the  window-hole,  and  he  got  inside." 

"Well,  is  that  all?" 

"I  thought  it  was  awful  funny  for  a  boy  to  get  in  that 
way,  so  I  ran  downstairs  again  and  went  out  into  the  yard 
to  see  who^t  was  when  he  came  out,  but  when  he  put  his 
head  out  of  the  window,  I  got  frightened,  so  I  hid  myself 


148  IDENTIFIED. 

behind  the  big  tree  near  the  bicycle-room  for  fear  he 
would  catch  me." 

"How  long  was  he  inside?" 

"About  a  quarter  of  an  hour,  I  think,  sir,  because  when 
I  went  back  to  the  study-hall  Mr.  Benson  said  I  had  been 
gone  nearly  half  an  hour,  and  threatened  to  put  me  in 
'jug'  for  half  an  hour  the  next  day.  He  didn't  though, 
'cause  we  had  a  holiday  all  day  to-day." 

"Did  you  see  the  face  of  the  boy  as  he  came  out?" 

"Yes,  sir,  quite  clear  in  the  moonlight." 

"Would  you  know  it  if  you  saw  it  again?" 

"Yes,  sir,  I'm  sure  I  should." 

"Now,  my  boy,  don't  mention  any  names,  but  take  a 
good  look  at  all  these  boys  and  if  that  boy  is  here,  point 
out  the  face  to  me." 


CHAPTER  XVII. 

IDENTIFIED. 

IT  was  a  thrilling  moment  for  the  boys  when  little 
£rnest  Winters  began  his  searching  glance  over  the 
throng  of  upturned  faces.  He  began  at  the  right  side, 
and  his  outstretched  arm  followed  his  eyes  as  he  slowly 
glanced  from  face  to  face  of  the  closely  packed  throng 
of  boys.  Slowly  his  hand  moved  from  right  to  left,  for 
there  were  nearly  two  hundred  boys  massed  together  in 
the  small  area.  At  length  the  arm  had  moved  to  the 
extreme  left.  It  then  suddenly  dropped. 

There  was  now  breathless  silence. 

"I— I  don't  see  the  face,  sir." 


IDENTIFIED.  149 

"You  are  sure  that  it  is  not  one  of  these  boys  before 
you  whom  you  saw  last  night?" 

"Sure,  sir,  quite." 

"Humph  !  I'm  glad  it  wasn't  a  student !  But  this  does 
not  clear  up  matters  much.  However,  if  that  is  all,  you 
may  sit  down." 

Ernest  Winters  turned  to  take  a  seat  on  a  bench  near 
the  wall  in  the  rear  of  the  stage.  Suddenly  he  gave  a 
scream. 

"There's  the  face !    That's  him  !    That's  him  !" 

He  pointed  to  Gregson. 

"Little  fool !"  muttered  that  worthy  between  his  teeth. 
He  scowled  fearfully. 

"It's  a  lie,"  he  said  aloud. 

"  'Tain't  neither,"  retorted  Ernest.  "I  saw  you  and  you 
know  you  was  there." 

Ernest  had  not  seen  Gregson  before,  because,  either 
by  accident  or  design,  his  face  had  been  hidden  behind 
the  broad  shoulders  of  a  big  boy  standing  in  front  of  him. 

"That  will  do,  Winters,"  said  the  prefect.  "Keep  quiet 
now.  That's  all,  eh  ?  All  right.  Sit  down  now  and  keep 
still." 

"Now,  my  little  lad,"  he  said  to  the  other  boy,  "what 
have  you  to  say  ?  What's  your  name  ?" 

"John  Asa  Bell,  sir." 

"All  right.  Ring  out  your  story.  Did  you  see  a  boy 
get  through  the  rear  window  of  the  bicycle-room  last 
night?" 

"No,  sir,  but  at  last  recess  just  before  our  night  prayers 
I  was  looking  out  of  the  study  room  window  toward  the 
shed.  I  saw  something  on  the  ground  shining  very  bright 
in  the  moonlight.  I  thought  it  was  a  silver  dollar,  so  I 


150  IDENTIFIED. 

ran  downstairs  in  a  hurry  and  went  over  to  where  it  was, 
'cause  I  don't  often  get  a  whole  dollar  and  I've  got  to 
pay  for  a  window  I  broke  yesterday." 

" Where  did  you  see  this  shining  thing,  Bell?" 

"Right  under  the  little  square  window  of  the  bicycle 
shed,  sir,  about  a  foot  from  the  wall." 

"Was  it  a  dollar?" 

"No,  sir,"  said  the  little  boy,  so  ruefully  that  everybody 
laughed. 

"What  was  it,  then  ?" 

"When  I  got  over  there  to  where  I  had  seen  the  dollar 
shining  it  didn't  shine  any  more,  so  I  kicked  'round  with 
my  foot  and  this  what  I've  got  in  my  pocket  was  it." 

"Take  it  out  and  let  us  see  what  it  is." 

The  boys  crowded  closer  to  get  a  glimpse  of  the  myste- 
rious object. 

Now,  John  Asa  Bell's  pockets  were  very  similar  to  every 
other  small  boy's  pockets  under  the  sun — receptacles  for 
everything — miniature  junk-shops.  These  particular 
pockets  were  situated  in  a  pair  of  almost  skin-tight  knee 
pants,  and  although  both  were — a  not  unusual  thing, 
dear  reader — in  a  more  or  less  bulging  condition,  yet  the 
pocket  mouth  was  very  small  and  with  great  difficulty 
admitted  or  released  a  hand  when  placed  therein. 

His  right  hand  wormed  itself  in,  and  John  Asa  Bell 
drew  out  a  top  with  the  greatest  difficulty. 

"That's  what  you  saw  shining  in  the  moonlight,  eh?" 

"No,  sir,  it's  down  in  the  bottom  of  my  pocket." 

"Oh,  all  right.  We  have  unlimited  time  and  patience, 
John  Asa  Bell,  nevertheless  do  not  waste  them." 

The  boys  watched  him  with  increasing  interest.  Again 
the  hand  went  into  the  cavern  and  once  more  squirmed 


IDENTIFIED.  151 

out.  This  time  it  held  a  top  string,  some  buckles,  and  bits 
of  slate  pencil.  These  he  put  with  the  top  in  the  left  hand 
and  began  again.  If  John  Asa  Bell  had  studied  for  years 
to  produce  a  dramatic  situation  capable  of  holding  an 
audience  in  excited  suspense,  he  could  not  have  been  more 
successful  than  he  was  now  in  his  artless  exhibition  of 
small-boyness.  Utterly  unconscious  of  the  nervous  tension 
he  was  creating  among  those  who  were  watching  him, 
once  more  his  hand  dived  down  into  this  modern  sub- 
stitute for  the  mythical  Pandora's  box. 

When  the  boy's  hand  again  emerged  with  difficulty 
from  the  mysterious  pocket  it  was  filled  with  a  miscellane- 
ous collection  consisting  of  two  more  buckles,  a  pocket 
knife  with  two  broken  blades — evidently  his  stock  in 
trade  for  his  "unsight-unseen"  transactions — some  mar- 
bles, a  small  iron  nut,  with  more  string. 

Passing  these  treasures  over  to  his  left  hand,  which  he 
held  against  his  chest,  he  found  there  was  more  than  it 
could  hold.  He  began  to  drop  some  of  the  marbles,  to 
his  great  consternation.  His  story  of  the  denouement  of 
a  deep  laid  plot  was  nothing  to  him.  His  marbles  were. 
Seeing  his  plight,  Stapleton  picked  up  the  fallen  treasures. 
Putting  them  into  his  hat  he  said  : 

"Here,  sonny,  dump  those  things  here.  I'll  pick  these 
up  and  take  care  of  all  of  them  for  you." 

Once  more  the  hand  went  into  the  pocket.  Something 
was  there  which  seemed  too  elusive  to  be  brought  to  the 
light  of  day. 

Standing  on  his  left  leg,  John  Asa  Bell  drew  up  his 
right  knee,  bent  his  body  to  the  right  and  made  great 
efforts  to  give  the  pocket's  mouth  more  play. 

Would  he  never  bring  his  treasure  to  the  light!     The 


152  IDENTIFIED. 

boys  watched  his  every  movement.  Only  their  own  intense 
excitement  prevented  them  from  realizing  how  long  a 
time  this  youngster,  who  was  perfectly  devoid  of  any  self- 
consciousness,  was  keeping  them  in  suspense. 

At  last!  At  last  his  efforts  were  successful.  From 
the  skin-tight  knee  pants'  pocket  he  drew  forth — a  nickel- 
plated  bicycle  wrench. 

If  the  situation  had  been  dramatic  before,  it  now  became 
doubly  so.  A  new  wave  of  "excitement  swept  over  the 
boys.  They  became  silent,  feverishly  awaiting  further 
developments. 

"You  found  this  wrench  in  the  rear  of  the  bicycle-shed  ?" 

"Yes,  sir." 

"How  close?" 

"Right  under  the  window." 

"Last  night?" 

"Yes,  sir,  just  before  night  prayers." 

"Let  me  see  it." 

While  the  prefect  was  examining  it,  Claude  said: 

"That's  the  reason  Gregson  borrowed  one  on  the  track 
just  before  the  race." 

"Wait,  there,  Winters.  Don't  be  unjust.  You  have  no 
evidence  that  this  belongs  to  Gregson." 

"He  had  not  his  to-day,  sir." 

"But  it  does  not  follow  that  this  one  is  his." 

"I  can  identify  Gregson 's  wrench,"  said  a  boy  named 
Withers. 

Hiding  the  wrench  from  the  boy's  sight  the  prefect  told 
him  to  describe  it.  Withers  described  the  wrench  of  a 
certain  bicycle  firm,  and  added: 

"Gregson's  wrench,  which  I  saw  yesterday  morning  in 
his  hand  has  the  letters  J  and  G  scratched  with  a  knife  on 


IDENTIFIED.  158 

the  long  flat  side;  then  there's  a  long  scratch  from  the 
G  to  the  head  of  the  wrench." 

The  make  and  marks  tallied  with  the  description.  And 
Gregson !  He  had  been  sitting  on  the  bench  near  the  wall 
while  the  witnesses  had  been  telling  their  story.  Now  he 
rose.  He  was  pale.  Great  drops  of  perspiration  were  on 
his  forehead.  He  came  forward. 

"Now,  Gregson,  we  are  willing  to  hear  all  you  have  to 
say,"  said  the  prefect  kindly,  for  he  heartily  pitied  the  boy. 

"I  guess  there's  nothing  for  me  to  say." 

"You  make  no  defense?" 

"No." 

"Did  you,  then,  tamper  with  Bracebridge's  wheel  ?" 

There  was  the  intensest  silence.  Every  ear  was  strained 
to  catch  the  reply.  In  a  muffled,  dry  voice  came  the  one 
audible  word  from  the  boy,  who  then  stood  self-convicted 
and  humiliated. 

"—did—" 

The  revulsion  of  feeling  was  intense,  in  proportion  to 
the  sustained  excitement.  A  long  "Ah-h !"  went  through 
the  crowd  like  an  electric  shock.  Then  complete  silence ; 
all  waiting  for  the  next  development.  It  was  a  critical 
moment  for  Gregson.  The  prefect  saw  the  electric  condi- 
tion of  the  mental  atmosphere  of  the  boys.  He  whispered 
to  Gregson: 

"You  had  better  get  out  of  this  room  as  quickly  as  you 
can." 

The  boy  stepped  down  from  the  platform  and  began  to 
push  his  way  through  the  crowd.  He  had  not  gone  far 
before  the  natural  dislike  of  meanness  inherent  in  manly 
boys  found  vent  in  a  prolonged  contemptuous  hiss. 
Groans  would  have  been  less  hard  to  bear.  There  is 


154  IDENTIFIED. 

nothing  so  cutting,  or  unequivocally  humiliating,  as  hissing 
as  an  expression  of  contempt. 

Stapleton,  after  returning  John  Asa  Bell  his  treasures, 
and  asking  the  puzzled  little  boy  for  a  certificate  of  safe 
delivery,  turned  with  Winters  to  congratulate  Ambrose 
Bracebridge.  He  could  not  be  found  in  the  gymnasium. 

As  soon  as  the  unsuccessful  wheelman  had  stated  his 
case,  he  had  retired  from  the  gymnasium.  He  went  to  the 
Philosophy  class-room,  where  a  few  of  his  friends  were 
now  discussing  the  situation  with  him.  Frank,  Claude, 
and  the  rest  of  the  Hunterites  rushed  to  the  class-room 
to  tell  Ambrose  Bracebridge  of  Gregson's  admission. 

The  next  morning  John  Philip  Watkins  Gray  came  up 
to  the  prefect. 

"I  guess,  sir,  that  Gregson  must  have  slept  in  the 
infirmary  last  night.  His  bed,  which  is  next  to  mine  in 
the  dormitory,  was  not  occupied." 

"I  know  that,  my  boy,  very  well.  But  I  don't  think  you 
will  find  him  in  the  infirmary.  I  have  just  found  out  that 
what  I  expected  would  happen,  did  happen.  The  boy 
ran  away." 

"Ran  away!" 

"Yes.  Don't  excite  yourself,  Gray.  I  expected  this, 
and  took  small  pains  to  prevent  it.  It  saves  an  expulsion 
to-day.  We  do  not  desire  such  boys  at  St.  Cuthbert's." 


IN  CLASS.  155 


CHAPTER  XVIII. 

IN    CLASS. 

IT  must  not  be  supposed  that  life  at  St.  Cuthbert's  con- 
sisted wholly  of  field-days  and  sports  and  games,  to  the 
exclusion  of  hard  work  in  the  class-rooms  and  in  the 
study-halls.  Much  real  and  solid  work  was  done  every 
day.  This  is  only  what  might  have  been  expected  from 
conscientious  Catholic  boys  and  from  enthusiastic  pro- 
fessors whose  whole  energies  were  given  to  a  work  to 
which  they  had  devoted  their  lives. 

Now  I  do  not  want  to  frighten  my  young  readers  by 
giving  them  a  whole  chapter  descriptive  of  class-work  at 
St.  Cuthbert's.  I  think  I  know  boys  well  enough  to  be 
sure  that  if  I  were  to  attempt  such  a  thing  most  readers 
would  turn  over  the  leaves  of  this  book  to  the  next  chap- 
ter. This,  of  course,  would  be  a  matter  of  regret,  because 
as  this  is  a  veritable  history  of  St.  Cuthbert's,  they  would 
miss  some  items  which  would  perhaps  be  worth  their 
reading.  It  is  certainly  within  the  sphere  of  this  chronicle 
to  relate  some  of  the  events  which  happened  in  the  class- 
room and  during  class-time,  as  it  is  to  tell  of  those  which 
took  place  out  of  study-time. 

Now  in  doing  this,  one  is  not  forbidden  to  select  the 
humorous  side  of  the  hard  work  of  schoolboy  life.  Some- 
one may  laugh  at  the  expression  "hard  work  of  schoolboy 
life."  That  study — real,  earnest  study — is  hard  work  no 
man  who  has  ever  been  a  boy  will  deny.  There  are  some 
men  who  have  never  been  boys.  These  will,  most  likely, 
deny  there  is  work  at  school.  We  will  not  discuss  this 


156  IN  CLASS. 

question.  If,  however,  any  of  these  sceptics  had  ever 
asked  the  opinion  of  St.  Cuthbert's  students,  they  would 
have  heard  some  very  positive  statements. 

From  conversation  in  the  yard  on  the  day  after  the  great 
fall  field-day,  a  number  of  the  Third  Academic  boys  evi- 
dently, thought  so.  We  will  not  record  their  conversation 
on  the  abstract  question  of  the  absolute  necessity  of  hard 
work  after  a  field-day,  etc.,  etc.,  but  we  will  relate  a  few 
of  the  events  which  gave  rise  to  it,  and  let  the  reader  see 
the  point  if  he  can. 

Of  course  so  great  an  event  as  we  have  described  in  the 
last  few  chapters,  did  not  help  to  make  the  little  men  of 
the  Third  Academic  over-anxious  to  get  down  to  strict 
business  on  the  next  day.  It  was  a  kind  of  Blue  Friday. 
Every  one  was  tired.  No  one  knew  his  lessons  well,  many 
not  at  all. 

It  is  on  just  such  a  day  that  boys  think  their  teacher 
"great"  if  he  can  make  them  realize  that  "he  knows  how 
it  is" — a  day  in  which  a  teacher  rises  to  the  highest  pin- 
nacle of  popularity  in  the  estimation  of  his  class,  if  he  is 
not  too  exacting  as  to  lessons,  and  happens  to  have  found 
somewhere  a  first-class  story  which  is  interesting  and,  at 
the  same  time,  instructive. 

But  Mr.  Benson  did  not  chance  to  be  one  of  those  men 
who  happen  to  discover  things  just  at  the  time  when 
the  discovery  is  the  most  valuable.  He  was  earnest,  zeal- 
ous, devoted,  but  many  a  boy  knew  to  his  cost  that  he  was 
unrelentingly  rigid.  If  he  penanced  a  boy  with  twenty 
lines  to  learn,  the  victim  knew  with  infallible  certainty  that 
he  would  have  to  pronounce  every  word  and  syllable  of 
those  lines.  If  he  had  -a  hundred  lines  to  write,  the  boy 
knew  that  the  eagle  eye  of  Mr.  Benson  could  detect,  as  if 


IN  CLASS.  157 

by  instinct,  the  words  left  out  in  a  sentence  or  even  the 
mistakes  in  spelling. 

It  must  not  be  supposed,  however,  that  his  boys  did  not 
like  him.  They  did,  but  it  was  a  liking  of  respect  rather 
than  of  love.  They  held  him  in  high  esteem,  but  regarded 
him  as  an  exacting  taskmaster. 

Perhaps  I  should  say  they  had  something  even  more 
than  esteem  for  him.  They  had  learned,  in  some  way  or 
other,  that  when  little  Jamie  Wilson  lay  sick  of  pneu- 
monia in  the  infirmary,  Mr.  Benson  had  spent  hours 
night  after  night  with  the  little  lad's  hand  in  his,  tending 
him  as  patiently  as  a  mother.  They  found  out — how  is  it 
that  boys  always  find  out  such  things? — that  when 
McNamara  was  laid  up  with  a  badly  sprained  shoulder 
and  a  wrenched  ankle,  it  was  Mr.  Benson  who  brought  the 
fevered  boy  those  delicious  oranges,  lent  him  books  to 
read,  and  interceded  with  the  infirmarian  to  obtain  per- 
mission for  two  boys  at  a  time  of  Mac's  own  class  to  visit 
him  during  the  night  studies. 

So,  in  solemn  conclave  held  on  the  brick  court  of  the 
hand-ball  alley,  they  had  voted  that  "he  wasn't  such  a 
bad  fellow,"  which,  after  all,  as  a  boy's  spontaneous  ver- 
dict, is  something. 

Well,  on  this  particular  morning,  class  work  was  partic- 
ularly hard  work — for  these  particular  boys.  Mr.  Benson 
also,  on  this  occasion,  received  several  impressions  from 
his  pupils  which  more  or  less  enlarged  his  views  on  edu- 
cating. 

Christian  Silbering  and  little  Jimmy  Foley  were  sitting 
together  at  one  desk  in  the  rear  of  the  room,  supposed  to 
be  studying  their  Latin  grammar.  Foley  was  very  anxious 
to  learn  some  German  words  from  Silbering,  probably 


158  IN  CLASS. 

because  it  was  the  time  appointed  for  learning  Latin 
words.  Silbering,  who  knew  very  little  English,  was 
equally  anxious  to  learn  the  meaning  in  English  of  the 
German  words  of  a  book  lying  open  on  the  desk  between 
their  two  Latin  grammars. 

"You  can't  tell  me  the  meaning  of  this  word,"  said 
Jimmie,  pointing  to  a  German  word. 

"I  doo  too,"  said  Christian,  and  he  told  it. 

"And  this  one?" 

"I  knows  likewise  that,  also,"  replied  the  other. 

"Well,  you  can't  tell  me  in  English  the  meaning  of  this 
word — Ganderich  ?" 

"I  doo  also,"  responded  Silbering. 

"What  is  it,  then?" 

"Just  led  me  think.    That  is  a  he-goose,  ain't  it  ?" 

This  was  too  much  for  James  Foley.  He  burst  out  into 
a  ringing  laugh,  and  then  suddenly  remembering  the 
enormity  of  such  an  offense  in  Mr.  Benson's  eyes,  he  bur- 
ied his  red  cheeks  in  his  hands,  and  all  at  once  was  appar- 
ently the  hardest-working  boy  in  the  class. 

"S-s-h !  There  is  too  much  noise  back  there.  Some  of 
you  will  get  some  lines  to  learn  if  you  are  not  more  care- 
ful." 

The  last  four  boys  having  stumbled  through  their  reci- 
tation he  sent  them  to  their  seats. 

"Now,  boys,"  he  said,  "I  want  to  talk  to  you  about  the 
Holy  Souls  in  Purgatory.  You  know  that  on  Sunday 
begins  the  month  of  November,  which  is  dedicated  to  the 
memory  of  the  Holy  Souls.  You  know  if  you  want  to 
help  them  effectually  you  must  yourselves  be  in  a  state  of 
grace.  This,  as  you  know,  can  be  obtained  in  the  con- 
fessional in  the  Sacrament  of  Penance,  or  by  a  perfect  Act 


IN  CLASS.  159 

of  Contrition.  Now,  I  have  procured  for  you  some  little 
leaflets,  on  which  is  printed  an  Act  of  Contrition.  It  is  not 
long,  so  I  will  give  you  ten  minutes  to  learn  it,  and  shall 
expect  each  one  of  you  to  be  able  to  repeat  it." 

He  then  distributed  the  leaflets.  The  little  boys  went 
to  work  with  a  will.  Anything  to  get  out  of  the  Latin 
for  a  time. 

"Have  we  to  learn  all  that  is  on  the  paper?"  asked 
Jimmie  Foley. 

"Yes,  learn  it  all.    There  is  not  much  to  learn." 

In  a  little  time  Christian  Silbering  put  up  his  hand 
and  snapped  his  fingers  loudly. 

"Well,  Silbering,  what  is  it?" 

"I  can  say  it,  sir." 

"All  right,  proceed." 

Christian  began :  "An  Act  of  Contrition.  O  my  God, 
I  am  heartily  sorry  for  having  offended  Thee  by  sin,  be- 
cause Thou  art  infinitely  good  and  sin  displeases  Thee. 
I  will  confess  my  sins,  and  by  the  help  of  Thy  grace  will 
not  sin  again.  Our  Father.  Hail  Mary.  Benziger 
Brothers,  New  York,  Chicago,  Cincinnati." 

"Leave  Benziger  Brothers  out.  What  have  they  to  do 
with  the  Act  of  Contrition?"  asked  Mr.  Benson. 

"But  they  are  on  the  paper,  and  you  said  I  was  to  learn 
all  that  was  the  paper  on." 

"Dear  me,  dear  me,  how  very  stupid!  I  am  afraid 
many  of  you  boys  do  not  go  about  your  studies  in  the 
right  way,"  said  the  teacher. 

"If  you  want  to  be  successful,"  he  continued,  "in  your 
lessons,  as  in  everything  else,  you  must  be  more  in  earn- 
est, and  do  a  thing  again  and  again  until  you  do  it  per- 
fectly. Let  us  take  an  example.  If  a  boy  wishes  to  be  a 


160  IN  CLASS. 

successful  baseball  player,  he  does  not  become  so  by 
playing  one  game,  does  he  ?  No.  He  does  the  same  thing 
over  and  over  again  until  he  is  perfect  in  it.  Take  an- 
other example.  If  you  wanted  to  make  a  great  jump  in  a 
contest,  what  would  you  do  ?  What  would  you  do,  Johnny 
Smith?  You  would  keep  jumping  until  you  were  perfect, 
wouldn't  you?  And  again,  suppose  one  of  you  boys 
wanted  to  smoke  a  cigarette?" 

Every  boy  in  the  class  tried  to  look  absolutely  innocent. 
Not  many  succeeded. 

"What  would  you  do?  You  would  use  every  means, 
try  every  plan,  until  you  succeeded  in  getting  the  cigar- 
ette, wouldn't  you?" 

Every  boy  agreed  with  him,  but  no  one  dared  to  openly 
acquiesce. 

"Take  one  more  example  of  the  necessity  of  striving  to 
reach  the  object  desired,  and  apply  it  to  your  studies. 
Suppose  a  boy  wanted  a  drink  of  water  from  the  pump. 
What  would  he  do?  He  would  take  the  means  to  procure 
the  drink,  wouldn't  he?  He  would  go  to  the  pump, 
wouldn't  he?  He  would  fill  a  cup,  and  then — then  what 
would  he  do?" 

There  was,  at  this  point,  more  or  less  snapping  of  fin- 
gers, indications  of  eagerness  to  answer. 

"Well,  Christian  Silbering,  what  would  that  boy  do  with 
the  cup  of  water?" 

"Offer  it  oop  for  the  souls  in  burgatory,"  said  the  boy 
innocently,  remembering  a  previous  instruction  on  little 
acts  of  self-denial,  and  perfectly  unconscious  that  he  had 
completely  spoiled  the  point  of  a  laborious  instruction. 

The  boy  seemed  quite  in  earnest.  After  a  stupefied 
pause,  Mr.  Benson  continued  to  talk  about  the  gaining  of 


IN  CLASS.  .  161 

indulgences  for  the  Holy  Souls  during  the  month  of 
November. 

"Now  who  can  tell  me  what  an  indulgence  is?"  asked 
the  teacher. 

The  boys  knew  in  a  general  way,  but  no  one  would  risk 
a  definition. 

"Well,  let  us  see  what  it  is  not,"  said  Mr.  Benson.  "It 
is  not  a  permission  to  commit  sin.  It  is  not  pardon  for 
sin.  What  is  it,  then?" 

Now  the  teacher  thought  that  perhaps  this  negative 
knowledge,  if  made  more  concrete  in  connection  with 
these  negations  would  help  materially,  so  he  said: 

"It  is  not  a  permission  to  commit  sin.  It  is  not  a 
shovel ;  it  is  not  a  spade ;  it  is  not  a  hoe.  Then  what  is  it  ?" 

He  then  gave  a  definition.  "An  indulgence  is  a  remis- 
sion of  the  temporal  punishment  due  to  sin  after  the  guilt 
has  been  forgiven.  Is  this  clear,  boys?" 

"Yes,  sir,  yes,  sir,"  they  all  answered. 

"Very  well.  I  have  now  told  you  what  an  indulgence 
is.  Perhaps  now,  Silbering,  since  you  did  so  brilliantly 
with  the  Act  of  Contrition,  you  can  tell  the  class  what  an 
indulgence  is." 

"Yes,  sir." 

"Well,  tell  the  class  what  an  indulgence  is." 

The  boy  answered  promptly: 

"It  is  not  a  shovel ;  it  is  not  a  spade ;  it  is  not  a  hoe. 
Then  what  is  it?" 

Mr.  Benson  gave  up.  For  the  next  half  hour  of  class 
he  made  the  boys  study  Latin  verbs. 

On  the  same  day,  neither  did  Mr.  Shalford  escape  with- 
out a  somewhat  peculiar  experience.  During  the  hour  of 
recreation  after  supper,  before  the  first  hour  of  evening 


102  IN  CLASS. 

studies,  as  he  was  walking  up  and  down  the  yard,  he 
passed  the  infirmary  door.  From  within  carm  a  most 
delicious  odor  of  fresh  coffee. 

"Ah !"  he  said  to  himself.  "The  good  old  infirmarian  is 
getting  a  fine  supper  for  some  sick  boy.  Lucky  fellow! 
By  the  way,  I  wonder  who  is  sick  ?  I  was  not  aware  that 
any  boy  was  down  just  at  present.  It's  some  boy  from 
the  junior  division,  I  suppose,  but  there's  no  harm  in 
going  to  see." 

He  stepped  into  the  infirmary.  Looking  into  the  con- 
valescents' room  as  he  passed,  he  found  it  was  empty. 
Then  he  went  to  the  dormitory.  There  was  not  an  occu- 
pant of  any  one  of  the  snow-white  beds.  Finally  he  ex- 
amined the  private  rooms,  reserved  for  more  serious 
cases  of  sickness.  He  could  not  find  the  patient,  nor 
could  he  catch  sight  of  the  infirmarian. 

Meanwhile  the  appetizing  odor  of  Mocha  permeated 
every  nook  and  corner  of  the  building.  He  went  down- 
stairs again,  and  into  the  dispensary  room  and  then  into 
the  infirmary  kitchen.  Nowhere  was  the  infirmarian  to 
be  found. 

But  what  he  did  see  in  the  kitchen  was  a  boy  comfort- 
ably seated  at  a  little  table,  enjoying  a  hearty  second  sup- 
per of  richly  browned,  buttered  toast,  and  coffee  made  at 
the  infirmary  stove. 

"Ho,  Clavering!    You  here?" 

"Yes,  sir/'  said  our  friend.  In  spite  of  his  attempted 
coolness  he  appeared  a  little  bit  uneasy. 

"What  are  you  doing?" 

"Having  an  extra  supper,  sir." 

"So  I  see.  Father  Lovelace  must  be  very  good  to 
you?" 


IN  CLASS.  163 

"I  haven't  seen  him,  sir." 

"Did  the  President  send  you  here,  then?" 

"No,  sir.    I  didn't  see  him  either." 

"Ah!  I  see,"  said  Mr.  Shalford,  laughing,  "you  have 
been  coaxing  the  good-natured  old  infirmarian.  Oh,  you 
boys." 

"No,  sir.     Not  that  either." 

"So!  Well,  the  college  doctor  didn't  order  this  kind 
ot  prescription,  did  he?"  and  he  pointed  to  the  remaining 
fragments  of  buttered  toast. 

"No,  sir." 

"But  surely  you  are  not  sick,  Clavering?  You  did  not 
appear  so  at  the  feasts  yesterday." 

"No,  sir,  I'm  not  in  the  least  sick." 

"Who,  then,  gave  you  permission  for  this  extra  sup- 
per?" 

"No  one,  sir." 

"No  one!     Then  why  are  you  here?" 

"I'll  be  honest  with  you,  sir,"  and  the  boy  looked  the 
prefect  in  the  face  in  a  manly  sort  of  way  which  highly 
pleased  the  latter,  who  realized  that  the  boy  was  caught, 
but  was  not  exactly  prepared  for  the  confession  which  fol- 
lowed. 

"I'll  be  honest  with  you,  sir.  I  was  terribly  hungry. 
We  have  supper  very  early,  you  know;  and  I  just  wanted 
some  toast  and  coffee,  and  I  wanted  it  in  the  worst  kind  of 
way.  So  I  weighed  the  matter  and  decided  to  take  the 
risk.  The  supper  was  worth  the  penance — if  I  should  get 
nabbed.  I  was  caught,  as  you  see,  sir,  and  now  I'm  ready 
to  do  any  kind  of  penance  you  impose." 

Mr.  Shalford  was  amused.  For  some  seconds  he  sil- 
ently looked  at  the  clear-eyed,  handsome  boy  before  him. 


164  IN  CLASS. 

In  that  time  he  had  made  up  his  mind  how  to  act.  Had 
the  admission  of  the  peccadillo  been  accompanied  by  any 
kind  of  self-excuse,  or  petition  for  leniency;  had  there 
been  any  sign  of  smallness  or  meanness,  it  is  quite  pos- 
sible that  Master  Richard  Clavering  would  have  ex- 
perienced an  extremely  unpleasant  quarter  of  an  hour. 
Nothing  of  this  kind  was  apparent.  Mr.  Shalford  real- 
ized that  objectively  two  boys  could  commit  the  same 
fault,  and,  subjectively,  for  one  it  would  be  a  great  wrong, 
while  for  the  other  it  could  be  a  mere  trifle.  The  latter, 
he  saw,  was  Clavering's  case.  What  was  he  to  do  under 
the  circumstances?  He  said: 

"Well,  if  you  are  not  possessed  of  the  most  illimitable 
quantity  of—" 

"Cheek,  sir?  I  can  only  admit  it.  But,  as  I  told  you, 
I  took  my  chances.  The  penance — " 

" — is,  that  if  you  don't  get  out  of  this  room  this  instant 
I  will — there,  I  don't  know  what  I'll  do.  But  seriously, 
Dick,  don't  let  me  catch  you  at  such  a  trick  again." 

"I  don't  think  you  will,  sir.     Thank  you,  Mr.  Shalford." 

It  was  weakness,  of  course — we  must  grant  something 
to  the  rigorists — on  Mr.  Shalford's  part  not  to  have  pun- 
ished for  such  a  breach  of  discipline.  It  was  weakness 
again,  of  course,  in  that  instead  of  seeing  the  boy  out  of 
the  infirmary  ahead  of  himself,  he  went  out  alone.  The 
prefect  had  noticed  that  there  was  some  toast  and  half  a 
cup  of  that  delicious  coffee  yet  unconsumed  and — well 
the  prefect  was  once  a  boy  himself. 


A  FATHER'S  FEARS.  165 


CHAPTER  XIX. 

A  FATHER'S  FEARS. 

THE  father  of  Claude  Winters  had  continued  to  be  very 
anxious  concerning  his  son's  safety.  His  mind  was  ill  at 
ease.  Although  he  tried  to  reassure  himself  that  under 
the  protection  of  the  United  States  laws  nothing  could 
happen,  yet  the  thought  that  Ernest  was  very  nearly  being 
kidnapped  did  not  tend  to  allay  his  fears.  His  anxiety 
was  increased  when  he  saw  the  influence  Ernest's  experi- 
ence was  having  upon  his  wife. 

Claude's  letter  had  been  the  occasion  of  recalling  to  her 
memory  all  the  horror  and  dread  of  that  unhappy  time  in 
India.  The  revival  in  her  memory  of  those  scenes  of 
anxiety  and  danger  was  influencing  her  health. 

Nor  was  Mr.  Winters  in  a  frame  of  mind  to  be  of  much 
assistance  toward  repelling  the  morbid  fancies  of  his 
wife.  When  he  had  seen  Claude  at  the  hotel  at  Cuthber- 
ton  he  told  his  son  not  to  let  this  mystery  influence  him. 
He  had  spoken  bravely  to  his  boy — far  more  bravely  than 
he  himself  had  felt  on  the  matter.  The  uncertainty,  the 
mere  possibility,  of  some  impalpable  danger  hovering  over 
the  heads  of  the  members  of  his  family  was  far  worse  for 
his  peace  of  mind  than  a  real,  tangible  danger  would  have 
been.  This  he  could  fight  manfully  with  a  chance  of 
downing  it.  That — the  dread  of  some  unknown,  uncer- 
tain trouble  which  might  come  at  any  moment — was  far 
worse  than  its  actual  approach. 

Such  was  the  state  of  mind  of  Mr.  Winters,  that  he  was 
willing  and  eager,  for  his  wife's  sake,  as  well  as  for  his 


166  A  FATHER'S  FEARS. 

own,  to  do  almost  anything  within  reason  to  remove  the 
dread  of  impending  evil. 

The  destruction  of  the  Hindu  temple  on  his  father's 
Indian  estate  was  not  his  own  doing,  yet  the  whole  family 
had  incurred  the  hatred  of  the  Hindus  of  the  locality. 
But  all  this  took  place  twenty  years  ago.  For  many  years 
he  had  heard  nothing  of  the  affair.  Long  ago  he  had 
hoped  and  thought  the  enmity  of  the  natives  had  died  out, 
especially  as  most  of  the  older  tribesmen  had  died  by  this 
time.  This  hope  seemed  now  to  be  futile.  All  his  slum- 
bering fears  had  been  rudely  reawakened  upon  the  re- 
ceipt of  Claude's  account  of  his  brother's  strange  ad- 
venture. 

Mr.  Winters  wrote  to  a  friend,  an  army  officer  at  Simla, 
begging  him  to  tell  him  what  the  state  of  affairs  was  in 
and  around  his  Indian  property.  He  received  a  some- 
what reassuring  reply.  The  letter  stated  that  the  anger 
against  the  Winters  family  seemed  to  be  dying  out.  The 
question  of  revenge  was  sinking  into  oblivion.  The 
writer  suggested  that  if  Mr.  Winters  could  accomplish 
some  "coup"  in  favor  of  the  natives  the  enmity  and 
stupid  prejudice  would  certainly  be  completely  overcome. 

With  this  somewhat  cheering  news  Mr.  Winters  went 
to  New  York  to  consult  his  lawyer  as  to  the  best  method 
of  bringing  about  so  desirable  an  end.  He  told  his  legal 
adviser  he  was  willing  to  go  to  considerable  expense, 
providing  he  could  regain  for  himself  and  his  wife  that 
peace  of  mind  which  the  assured  safety  of  his  dearly  loved 
children  alone  could  procure. 

"I  think  I  see  a  way  out  of  the  difficulty,"  said  the  law- 
yer. "Could  you  not  do  some  public  benevolent  act  by 
which  you  could  win  the  good  will  of  these  tribesmen?" 


A  FATHER'S  FEARS.  161 

"I  would  willingly  do  so,  if  I  knew  what  could  be  done." 

The  lawyer  thought  for  some  minutes  in  silence. 

"You  say  that  the  Sisters  of  Mercy,  according  to  the 
letter  from  your  friend  in  Simla,  have  recently  settled 
among  the  Hindus  close  to,  if  not  on,  your  estate.  How 
are  they  being  received  by  the  natives?" 

"The  letter  states  they  are  much  respected  and  doing 
much  good.  The  Hindus  realize  that  they  are  working 
for  their  good.  They  trust  to  them  many  of  their  chil- 
dren to  educate." 

"Well,  sir,  then  I  think  I  see  a  way  to  settle  your 
troubles,  if,  as  you  say,  you  are  willing  to  be  generous." 

"Money  is  no  object,  but  you  must  not  ask  me  to  re- 
build the  Hindu  temple  which  my  father  destroyed.  I 
could  not  and  would  not  do  that." 

"I  would  not  suggest  such  a  course.  What  I  propose 
is  this.  You  say  there  are  two  fine  mansions  on  your 
estate  formerly  occupied  by  your  father  and  by  yourself?" 

"Yes." 

"Could  you  not  give  the  Sisters  one  of  these  houses  for 
a  school,  hospital,  and  dispensary  for  the  benefit  of  the 
native  Hindus?" 

"Yes,  yes,  that's  a  capital  plan!"  said  Mr.  Winters,  en- 
thusiastically. "I  am  very  glad  I  consulted  you.  But  I 
could  not  give  my  father's  house  because  that  has  been 
used  for  years  as  a  kind  of  vacation  villa  for  the  officers  of 
the  Simla  garrison.  The  one  that  is  built  for  me  is  nearly 
as  large.  It  would  answer  the  purpose  equally  well." 

"To  make  your  plan  effective,"  said  the  lawyer,  "I 
would,  if  I  were  you,  liberally  endow  the  school  and  hos- 
pital, so  that  the  Sisters  need  not  be  cramped  in  their 
work.  Owing  to  the  end  which  you  wish  to  attain  I 


168  A  FATHER'S  FEARS. 

should,  in  this  instance,  act  contrary  to  the  scriptural  in- 
junction and  let  your  left  hand  know  what  your  right  hand 
doeth.  I  would  spread  the  news  far  and  wide  throughout 
the  district ;  open  the  hospital  with  great  eclat ;  get  many 
people  to  go  out  from  Simla  for  the  occasion,  and  above 
all,  let  everybody  know  that  it  is  all  for  the  special  bene- 
fit of  the  local  Hindu  population." 

"I  acquiesce  in  all  you  suggest,  but  this  would  neces- 
sitate a  trip  to  India." 

"I  recommend  you,  most  decidedly,  to  go.  Take  your 
wife  and  your  boys  and  girls." 

"But  this  could  not  be  done,  at  least  conveniently,  until 
after  Claude's  graduation  at  the  end  of  next  June." 

'That  will  probably  be  time  enough  for  your  visit. 
Many  things  will  have  to  be  attended  to  before  that — 
deeds  to  be  examined,  transfers  to  be  made  and  the  whole 
matter  is  to  become  the  talk  of  the  countryside.  All  this 
must  be  done  before  you  arrive.  One  thing  you  can  do 
immediately.  You  can  write  to  the  good  Sisters  there. 
Give  these  devoted  women  the  consolation  of  knowing 
what  is  going  to  be  done.  Do  you  think  your  wife  could 
undertake  the  journey?" 

"I  think  so.  I  will  consult  her.  I  believe,  in  her  pres- 
ent state  of  uneasiness  anything  would  be  better  than  in- 
action. At  all  events  the  ocean  voyage  would  be  bene- 
ficial." 

At  his  hotel,  that  afternoon,  Mr.  Winters  wrote  to  his 
friend  in  Simla,  unfolding  to  him  the  whole  plan,  asking 
him  to  tell  the  Sisters  at  once.  Since  his  consultation  he 
had  been  in  better  spirits  than  for  a  long  time.  It  is  true 
that  fhe  dread  of  some  misfortune  happening  in  the  inter- 
vening time  was  a  source  of  anxiety,  yet  he  was  much 


1  FATHER'S  FEARS.  169 

encouraged  at  the  prospect  of  a  final  settlement  of  an 
inherited  feud. 

After  dinner  he  went  to  the  hotel  office  to  smoke  a 
cigar.  The  place  was  filled  with  professional  and  busi- 
ness men.  Amid  the  deadened  patter  of  many  feet  on  the 
tiles  and  the  busy  hum  of  many  voices,  he  could  easily 
distinguish  that  a  large  percentage  were  talking  of  the  re- 
markable feats  performed  by  some  juggler  who  had  night 
after  night  filled  one  of  the  largest  theaters  in  the  city. 

Mr.  Winters  took  a  seat  facing  the  big  plate-glass  street 
window,  with  the  intention  of  running  through  the  first 
edition  of  the  afternoon  papers.  While  thus  engaged,  he 
could  not  help  overhearing  the  conversation  of  two  or 
three  men  who  were  standing  close  behind  his  chair. 

"When  do  you  sail?"  asked  one  person. 

"On  the  tenth  of  November.  I  have  some  pretty  good 
orders  this  trip.  Let  me  see,  fourteen  elephants,  two 
lions,  three  lionesses,  one  large  boa-constrictor,  three 
camels  and  a  dromedary.  That's  all  the  big  game.  I 
have  several  orders  for  mandrills,  hyenas,  sloths,  but  these 
are  easy  to  get." 

"By  the  way,  Jenkinson,  while  you  are  in  India,"  said 
the  first  speaker,  "I  wish  you  would  ship  me  a  couple  of 
dozen  or  so  of  small  black  idols.  The  uglier  they  are, 
the  better.  These  things  seem  to  be  the  fad  just  now. 
There's  money  in  them." 

Jenkinson  laughed. 

"These  are  easy  enough  to  get.  I  could  send  you  the 
original  god  of  any  temple  in  India  if  you  would  be  will- 
ing to  pay  enough." 

"Well,  good-by,  Jenkinson." 

"Good-by,  sir;  but  before  we  part  I  would  like  to  tell 


170  A  FATHER'S  FEARS. 

you  that  this  is  probably  the  last  trip  I  shall  make  for  the 
syndicate.  I  am  tired  of  traveling  over  the  earth.  My 
wife  wants  me  to  settle  down.  As  my  children  are  grow- 
ing up,  I  think  I  shall  take  her  advice." 

"I  am  sorry  to  hear  you  are  going  to  quit,  Jenkinson, 
very  sorry.  I  hope  you  will  recommend  your  successor 
before  you  leave  us.  You  have  been  a  faithful  agent  of 
our  company  and  we  shall  regret  to  lose  you.  Your 
securing  Chudwalla  was  an  excellent  piece  of  work  for  the 
syndicate.  Good-by,  good-by." 

Mr.  Peter  Jenkinson  received  a  much  warmer  hand- 
shaking than  corporation  managers  usually  give  their  em- 
ployees. 

"Well,  I  swan!"  said  the  buyer  of  animals,  when  his  em- 
ployer had  gone.  "Well,  I  swan !  The  old  gentleman 
seemed  quite  worked  up.  My !  how  little  we  know  of 
hearts  and  feelings.  Who  on  earth  would  believe  he  ever 
thought  anything  of  me !  At  the  end  I  do  believe  the  old 
gentleman  was  actually  too  full  for  utterance." 

Mr.  Jenkinson  took  a  seat  next  to  Mr.  Winters.  With 
that  ease  with  which  acquaintances  are  formed  in  hotels, 
on  trains,  or  steamboats,  the  syndicate  agent  and  the  fath- 
er of  Claude  were  soon  engaged  in  conversation. 

"Excuse  me,  but  I  think  I  overheard  you  say  you  have 
been  or  are  going  to  India?  You  and  your  friend  behind 
my  chair  spoke  quite  loudly.  I  could  not  help  overhear- 
ing you." 

"Yes,  sir,  been  there  nearly  a  dozen  times.  Been  in 
India?" 

"I  lived  in  northern  India  many  years,"  answered  Mr. 
Winters. 

"Glad  to  meet  you,  glad  to  meet  you." 


A  FATHER'S  FEARS.  Ill 

"Thanks.  Who  is  this  Chudwalla,  the  great  juggler, 
whom  every  one  is  talking  about  just  now?  The  name 
sounds  like  an  Indian  one." 

"Haven't  you  seen  him?  No?  He  is  a  great  fakir — 
best  conjurer  that  ever  came  to  the  United  States.  I 
picked  him  up  near  Simla.  He's  wonderful.  His  name's 
on  every  billboard  in  the  city.  Making  heaps  of  money, 
too." 

Mr.  Winters  became  nervous.  What  if  this  magician 
should  be  in  this  country,  not  for  the  purpose  of  exhibit- 
ing his  feats  of  legerdemain,  but  as  one  sent  by  the  tribe 
to  hunt  down  his  son!  Nor  was  he  reassured  when,  upon 
asking  how  the  man  spent  his  time  off  the  stage,  he  re- 
ceived the  following  information : 

"The  man  is  certainly  above  the  ordinary  Hindu.  He 
is  well  educated — speaks  several  languages.  He  has  one 
peculiarity  which  he  won't  give  up,  although  by  not  doing 
so  he  loses  a  good  deal  of  money  each  month." 

"May  I  ask  what  that  is?" 

"He  will  not  perform  for  any  full  month.  He  takes 
one  week  to  himself  out  of  every  four.  No  persuasion 
will  make  him  relinquish  his  search." 

"His  search!  Good  gracious,  what  is  he  searching  for?" 

Mr.  Winters  was  very  much  startled.  Here  was  an 
Indian  from  the  neighborhood  of  his  birthplace,  devoting 
a  week  each  month  to  searching  for  something.  Surely 
he  must  be  looking  for  his  boy.  What  else,  under  the 
circumstances,  could  he  want? 

"He  is  searching  for  a  great  diamond,"  said  Mr.  Peter 
Jenkinson,  who  had  not  noticed  the  other's  excitement, 
being,  just  at  that  moment,  intent  on  not  burning  his  fin- 
gers in  the  operation  of  lighting  his  cheroot. 


172  A  FATHERS  FEARS. 

"It  appears  to  me  somewhat  of  a  wild-goose  chase. 
This  particular  diamond  seems  to  have  belonged  to  some 
temple.  It  is  said  to  be  a  very  yellow  stone.  It  was 
called  the  Eyesight  of  Brahma  or  something  of  the  kind. 
The  temple  I  speak  of  was  a  one-horse  affair  situated  on 
the  hillside  at  Chour — " 

"At  Chour!" 

"Yes,  have  you  been  there?" 

"Oh,  yes.  I  have  seen  that  diamond.  It  was  twenty 
years  ago,  though." 

"So !  The  old  man  who  is  the  head  of  the  tribe  there — 
and  a  mighty  good  conjurer  he  is,  too — has  set  his  heart 
on  getting  back  that  diamond,  and  this  Chudwalla  has 
promised  to  help  him  to  find  it  I  think  their  chances  are 
pretty  slim,  don't  you?  It  was  too  long  ago." 

"I  remember  hearing  something  about  the  pillage  of 
that  temple.  Yes,  his  chances  are  very  slim,  very  slim 
indeed,  I  should  say." 

"Going  to  see  Chudwalla's  performance?" 

"I  think  I  shall,  either  to-night  or  to-morrow  night." 

"I  would  recommend  you  to  do  so.  Shall  I  meet  you 
in  India  six  months  from  now?  You  know  this  world  is 
a  very  small  place,  after  all." 

"There  are  many  more  unlikely  things  than  that  we 
may  meet  again." 

Jenkinson  got  up  to  go. 

"Oh!  by  the  way — your  name,  sir?" 

"Excuse  me.  For  reasons  of  my  own,  Mr.  Jenkinson, 
I  do  not  want  my  name  to  be  known.  Not  that  I  mistrust 
you,  sir,  but  owing  to  very  peculiar  circumstances  I  pre- 
fer not  to  give  my  name  at  present.  However,  I  hope  we 
shall  meet  again." 


WAS  IT  A  COINCIDENCE?  173 

That  is  just  where  Mr.  Winters  made  a  mistake.  Jen- 
kinson  was  peculiar,  but  he  was  a  whole-souled  American. 
Had  he  been  made  a  confidant,  he  would  have  strained 
every  nerve  to  help  Mr.  Winters  out  of  his  difficulties. 

They  shook  hands  and  parted. 


CHAPTER  XX. 

WAS  IT  A  COINCIDENCE? 

VERY  much  agitated,  Mr.  Winters  went  to  his  room  in 
the  hotel  to  think  over  what  he  had  heard.  This  story 
of  seeking  for  a  diamond  lost  over  twenty  years  ago  was, 
to  him,  only  a  veil  to  cover  some  other  design.  What  if 
the  other  design  related  to  himself  and  his  family!  Was 
it  not  too  bad  that  just  when  the  whole  miserable  affair 
was  on  the  point  of  being  settled  forever,  the  greatest  dan- 
ger should  arise! 

He  reasonably  thought  that  no  really  sensible  man 
would  go  searching  for  a  plain  diamond,  lost  twenty  years 
before  in  India,  in  a  country  of  so  great  an  extent  as  the 
United  States.  This  would  be  the  supremest  folly.  No. 
There  must  be  some  other  motive  for  Chudwalla's  pres- 
ence. What  did  Mr.  Jenkinson  mean  by  calling  the  dia- 
mond stolen  from  the  temple  at  Chour  the  Eyesight  of 
Brahma?  Ah!  he  remembered  now!  Before  leaving 
London  to  settle  in  the  United  States  he  had  purchased  a 
rather  fine  diamond  of  a  yellowish  tinge  as  a  Christmas 
present  for  his  wife.  He  remembered  that  the  diamond 
merchant  in  the  Strand  told  him  that  the  precious  stone 


174  WAS  IT  A  COINCIDENCE? 

had  a  peculiar  history.  At  the  time  he  did  not  pay  much 
attention  to  the  story,  thinking  it  was  merely  an  effort  on 
the  part  of  the  seller  to  more  easily  dispose  of  his  wares. 
He  had  not  purchased  the  jewel  for  its  supposed  history, 
but  for  its  peculiar  color,  or  rather  colors.  At  certain 
angles  it  emitted  a  blue-white  radiance,  while  at  another 
angle  it  shone  with  an  almost  yellow  light.  This  was  the 
reason  of  his  purchase.  He  wished  now  that  he  could 
remember  the  story  the  jeweler  had  told  him. 

For  a  long  time  that  afternoon  the  father  of  Claude 
strove  to  recall  the  name  the  merchant  had  given  the  dia- 
mond. At  last  it  came  back  to  him.  He  called  it  the 
Eye  of  Brahma  !  That  was  it!  But  now  that  he  remem- 
bered the  name  he  asked  himself  of  what  use  would  it  be 
to  him.  The  result  of  his  reflection  was  the  certainty 
that  he  was  the  possessor  of  the  diamond  which  had  been 
stolen  from  the  temple  at  Chour. 

Would  not  this  fact,  however,  be  only  an  extra  danger 
to  him  and  to  his  family? 

Suddenly  a  thought  came  to  him  almost  as  an  inspira- 
tion. It  made  his  blood  tingle.  It  gave  him  great  cour- 
age. Immediately  the  whole  question  brightened.  He 
would  work  one  event  against  the  other.  The  diamond 
for  Claude's  safety. 

Chudwalla's  primary  search  was  evidently  for  the  dia- 
mond. To  him  the  capture  of  Claude  must  be  of  only  sec- 
ondary importance.  At  least  from  Mr.  Jenkinson's  words 
he  knew  that  the  search  for  the  diamond  was  a  certain 
quest,  while,  after  all,  the  conjurer's  wish  to  capture  his 
son  might  be  a  creation  of  his  own  imagination,  without 
any  existence  whatever  in  the  mind  of  the  Hindu.  If 
he  should  subsequently  discover  that  Chudwalla  was  look- 


WA8  IT  A  COINCIDENCE?  175 

ing  for  his  boy,  he  would  hold  out  to  him  the  sure  prospect 
of  recovering  the  Eye  of  Brahma.  What  interest  could 
the  magician  have  in  seizing  the  boy?  There  must  be  a 
rich  reward  for  the  recovery  of  the  diamond.  Yes,  Chud- 
walla  would  certainly  prefer  the  money  to  revenge. 

Do  what  he  would,  however,  he  could  not  divert  him- 
self of  the  idea  that  Claude  was,  and  would  be  for  the  next 
six  months,  in  more  danger  than  ever  before.  If  Chud- 
walla  had  a  commission  from  the  Hindus  on  and  around 
his  estate  in  India  to  find  out  and  capture  the  colonel's 
grandson,  the  same  people  who  had  engaged  him  for  this 
purpose  would  also,  by  some  means  or  other,  keep  him 
informed  of  the  progress  of  events  in  India.  He  would, 
therefore,  soon  learn  of  the  proposed  benefactions  of  the 
Winters'  family  to  the  natives,  who  would  probably  be 
less  earnest  in  their  quest  for  the  boy. 

On  the  other  hand,  Chudwalla — if  he  were  their  agent — 
would  be  proportionately  active  while  he  had  the  op- 
portunity to  accomplish  his  work,  so  as  not  to  lose  the 
reward  which  must  follow  from  its  successful  accomplish- 
ment. 

Mr.  Winters,  when  he  had  visited  Claude  at  Cuthber- 
ton,  had  told  him  that  he  must  not  be  surprised  if  at  any 
time  and  at  a  moment's  notice,  he  should  withdraw  him 
from  St.  Cuthbert's,  sending  him,  for  the  time  being,  to 
some  distant  and  out-of-the  way  place.  He  had  men- 
tioned Muskoka,  and  a  farm  owned  by  a  friend  of  his 
outside  of  Portland,  Oregon. 

He  wrote  that  afternoon  to  the  President  of  St.  Cuth- 
bert's, giving  him  a  full  account  of  all  he  had  learned. 
He  told  him  he  thought  it  the  best  plan  to  withdraw  the 
two  boys.  The  President  answered  at  once.  He  said 


176  WAS  IT  A  COINCIDENCE? 

he  would  willingly  comply  with  Mr.  Winters'  request  if 
absolutely  necessary,  but  asked  for  a  personal  interview 
before  action  was  taken.  Mr.  Winters  wired  an  answer 
that  he  would  visit  St.  Cuthbert's  once  more.  So 
Claude's  withdrawal  stood  in  abeyance. 

The  perplexed  father  determined  to  get  sight  of  Chud- 
walla,  if  possible,  without  being  seen  by  him.  That  even- 
ing he  bought  an  ordinary  ticket  of  admission  to  the 
theater.  In  spite  of  his  anxiety  he  thoroughly  enjoyed 
the  exhibition  of  wonderful  skill  of  the  clever  Hindu. 
Some  of  these  performances  we  have  described  in  an 
earlier  chapter. 

After  what  Mr.  Jenkinson  had  told  him  of  Chudwalla, 
it  was  not  difficult  for  Mr.  Winters  to  recognize  the  ma- 
gician. He  had  also  seen  him  more  than  once  in  India 
at  Simla  and  other  places  when  he  first  began  to  give 
public  performances. 

The  number  of  the  seat  of  Mr.  Winters'  ticket  was 
directly  in  the  middle  of  the  auditorium  and  at  the  end  of 
a  long  pathway  or  platform  leading  from  the  stage,  such 
as  most  performers  of  legerdemain  use  when  they  have 
occasion  to  borrow  hats'  handkerchiefs,  etc.,  in  order  to 
enhance  their  delusions. 

The  performance  was  nearly  over  when  Chudwalla 
came  to  the  end  of  the  walk  to  borrow  a  silk  hat.  In 
looking  around  to  select  some  gentleman  from  whom  he 
might  borrow  the  article,  his  eyes  fell  on  Mr.  Winters, 
who  at  the  same  time  looked  up.  Their  eyes  met.  Chud- 
walla started.  The  father  of  the  two  boys  kept  a  steady 
countenance,  his  nervousness  showing  itself  only  by  a 
slight  twitching  of  the  lips. 

Having   secured   the   desired   hat,    Chudwalla   walked 


WAS  IT  A  COINCIDENCE?  177 

rapidly  back  to  the  stage.  Here  he  spoke  a  few  hurried 
words  to  his  assistant,  who  at  once  left  the  stage  and  ap- 
peared no  more.  A  few  minutes  later,  Mr.  Winters 
looked  around  him.  He  saw  the  assistant,  now  divested 
of  his  stage  costume  of  Oriental  robes  and  turban.  He 
was  dressed  in  ordinary  civilian's  clothes.  He  believed 
the  assistant  was  intently  watching  him. 

The  excited  man  soon  left  the  theater.  Upon  going 
out  he  caught  a  glimpse  of  the  assistant  in  the  entrance 
near  the  ticket  office.  When  he  arrived  at  the  hotel,  a 
block  and  a  half  away  from  the  theater,  he  saw  the  same 
individual  a  few  steps  behind  him.  He  went  at  once  for 
the  key  of  his  room.  The  assistant  was  close  at  his  heels. 
He  could  see  the  number  of  the  peg  on  the  keyboard 
from  which  the  key  was  taken. 

The  next  morning  he  went  again  to  see  his  lawyer,  tell- 
ing him  all  he  had  learned,  and  dwelling  especially  on 
what  he  called  the  mysterious  shadowing  by  the  assistant. 

The  legal  adviser  appreciated  the  gravity  of  the  situa- 
tion, but  seeing  that  Mr.  Winters  was  quite  excited  over 
the  events,  he  purposely  made  rather  light  of  them.  In  a 
letter  he  wrote  a  week  later  he  assured  Mr.  Winters  that 
he  might  consider  the  "shadowing"  a  mere  coincidence, 
as  he  had  discovered  that  Chudwalla  and  his  assistant 
lived  at  the  same  hotel  where  he  had  been  a  guest. 

In  the  meantime,  however,  he  recommended  his  client 
that  he  empower  him  to  shadow  both  Chudwalla  and  his 
companion,  promising  to  keep  the  anxious  father  fully  in- 
formed of  all  their  movements. 

"I  will  keep  a  sharp  watch  on  them,  and  if  it  comes  to 
the  worst  we  can  have  the  two  arrested." 

"But  we  have  no  charge  against  them," 


178  WAS  IT  A  COINCIDENCE? 

"I  think  we  could  charge  them  with  the  attempted  ab- 
duction of  Ernest.  At  all  events  that  would  delay  their 
operations  until  after  you  had  sailed  in  July.  Of  course 
you  will  take  your  two  boys  with  you  to  India?" 

"I  had  not  intended  to  do  that.  Do  you  think  it  the 
wiser  plan?" 

"For  your  own  and  your  wife's  peace  of  mind  I  should 
strongly  recommend  it.  Having  them  with  you,  what- 
ever may  happen,  will  be  better  than  bearing  the  suspense 
of  their  absence  at  this  critical  time." 

"But  then  I  should  have  to  take  the  three  girls,  too." 

"What  is  the  objection  to  that?  I  know  my  girls 
would  be  only  too  pleased  to  have  such  an  opportunity  to 
travel,"  said  the  lawyer,  laughing. 

And  so,  Claude,  one  morning  in  December,  was  thrown 
into  a  state  of  wildest  excitement  by  the  contents  of  a 
letter  from  his  father,  telling  him  that  he  and  Ernest  and 
all  the  family  were  going  to  take  a  trip  to  India  as  soon 
as  he  had  graduated.. 

"Whoop  la !  here's  news  and  no  mistake,"  shouted 
the  excitable  boy.  He  soon  told  his  friends  the  great 
news. 

"But  you  won't  go,  Claude,"  said  Mr.  Shalford,  who  at 
the  moment  wore  a  half-comical,  half-earnest  look. 

"Won't  go,  sir?     You  bet  I  will.     Why,  it's  grand!" 

"But  doesn't  the  letter  say  'as  soon  as  you  have  grad- 
uated'? Well,  as  things  are  going  now  you  will  have  to 
change  considerably  or  you  will  not  graduate  at  all.  The 
fact  is,  my  boy,  you  are  letting  your  family  affairs  take 
up  too  much  of  your  attention.  Your  father  will  attend 
to  these.  Your  duty  is  to  apply  yourself  more  to  your 
studies." 


WAS  IT  A  COINCIDENCE?  179 

"But,  sir,  I — I — "  Claude  did  not  know  what  to  say. 
Mr.  Shalford  continued: 

"I  am  told  your  mathematics  are  not  up  to  the  mark. 
Your  semi-annual  examination  in  Philosophy  is  only  a  few 
weeks  off.  Get  to  work  boy,  get  to  work.  You  are  not 
doing  yourself  justice." 

There  was  a  great  deal  of  truth  in  what  the  prefect  said. 
Whether  it  was  owing  to  the  Philosophers  having  a  room 
to  themselves  and  being  very  much  alone  in  the  matter 
of  private  preparation,  or  whether  the  stirring  events  of 
the  late  field-day  and  the  practice  for  the  football  games 
had  taken  their  minds  for  the  time  off  their  studies,  it 
is  hard  to  say.  From  whatever  cause  it  originated,  the 
fact  remained.  The  Philosophy  class,  Claude  included, 
were  not  at  present  giving  satisfaction  to  their  professors. 
The  teachers  of  philosophy,  mathematics,  literature,  and 
other  branches  had  all  given  the  prefect  of  studies  more 
or  less  unfavorable  reports. 

Claude  felt  mortified  at  the  reproof.  It  was  the  first 
real  "talking  to"  he  had  received  since  he  came  to  the 
large  yard  four  years  ago. 

"I'm  awfully  sorry,  sir.     I'm  going  to  change  at  once." 

"Glad  to  hear  it,  Claude;  I  thought  a  word  would  be 
enough." 

"You  bet.  I  mean,  sir,  one  word  shall  be  enough. 
Now  you  just  see.  I'm  not  going  to  have  that  said  about 
me  again,  if  I  can  help  it.  The  others  won't  either,  sir." 

Claude  was  as  good  as  his  word.  In  spite  of  the 
mysterious  affair  which  occupied  his  own  and  his  father's 
thoughts  so  much,  and  notwithstanding  he  had  distraction 
enough  in  the  delightful  prospect  of  a  voyage  to  India — a 
prospect  which  would  certainly  unsettle  any  ordinary  boy 


180  THE  INVITATION. 

— Claude  went  to  work  vigorously.  The  others  did  like- 
wise. Soon  all  complaints  had  ceased.  The  danger  of 
being  sent  to  the  common  study-hall  and  of  having  their 
cosy  class-room  closed  against  them  out  of  class  hours 
was  averted. 


CHAPTER  XXI. 

THE  INVITATION. 

IT  was  not  before  December  that  Ambrose  Bracebridge 
could  keep  his  promise  of  spending  Sunday  at  Rosecroft 
Manor.  Within  a  very  short  time  after  the  fall  sports  the 
weather  changed.  During  the  month  of  November  there 
was  rain,  making  the  roads  bad.  In  the  first  week  of 
December  the  weather  brightened  and  a  cold  wind  dried 
the  roads. 

Ambrose  had  written  to  his  father  to  say  that  should 
the  weather  continue  to  be  fine  he  would  be  home  to  din- 
ner on  the  following  Sunday,  and  would  probably  bring 
two  or  three  companions  with  him. 

"You  will  come  home  to  dinner  with  me,  Howard,  to- 
morrow," he  said  to  Hunter  on  Saturday,  "if  the  day  is 
fine,  won't  you?" 

"I  don't  know,  Ambrose,"  replied  Howard,  "it  seems 
like  imposing  on  your  good  nature,  and  that  of  your 
father." 

"What  does,  pray?" 

"Going  again  to  Rosecroft  Manor.  There  may  be  too 
much  of  a  good  thing,  you  know." 


THE  INVITATION.  181 

"Who  thinks  that?" 

"Perhaps  your  father  might." 

"Now  look  here,  Howard,  if  ever  I  hear  you  say  such  a 
thing  again  I'll  become  very  angry,  and  I  won't  speak  to 
you  again — for  a  whole  day,"  he  added  laughingly.  "No, 
Howard,  please  do  not  think  that.  Father  is  only  too 
pleased  that  you  and  Claude  are  coming,  that  is,  if  the 
President  will  grant  the  permission.  Isn't  it  strange 
that  the  President  hesitates  about  him  ?  Winters  has  not 
been  getting  into  trouble,  has  he?" 

Hunter  laughed  aloud  at  the  idea. 

"Claude  in  trouble!     Well,  I  guess  not." 

He  did  not  tell  Ambrose  why  the  President  hesitated. 
The  fact  was,  the  Father,  owing  to  Claude's  father's  evi- 
dent anxiety  for  the  safety  of  his  sons,  did  not  care  to  let 
the  boy  be  long  out  of  his  sight. 

"If  Claude  goes  I  will  go,  too,"  said  Hunter. 

"Thanks.     Now  I  have  another  idea." 

"Dear  me!  It  must  be  troublesome.  Get  rid  of  it  as 
soon  as  you  can.  It  might  hurt." 

"See  if  it  does,"  said  Ambrose  as  quick  as  lightning, 
and  he  squared  off  in  the  most  approved  pugilistic  fashion. 
Howard  at  once  put  himself  on  guard.  The  two  hand- 
some boys  stood  face  to  face  in  a  moment,  ready  for  a 
scientific  boxing  match  without  gloves. 

Instantly  a  crowd  of  boys  gathered. 

"A  fight!  a  fight!"  they  shouted  as  they  came  running. 
In  the  meanwhile  Ambrose  had  slyly  winked  to  Hunter. 
Hunter  nodded  intelligently. 

"Are  you  ready,"  said  Bracebridge. 

"Yes,  come  on;  I'm  not  afraid  of  you." 

By  this  time  some  of  the  onlookers  had  made  a  ring. 


182  THE  INVITATION. 

"Come  on  then,"  said  the  .apparent  aggressor.  They 
closed,  and,  as  quick  as  thought,  linked  arms  and  walked 
away,  both  laughing  loudly  at  the  way  they  had  fooled  the 
crowd. 

"Hooks!  hooks!"  shouted  several  boys.  Before  this 
corruption  for  the  •word  "hoaxed"  had  died  away,  the 
crowd  had  again  dispersed.  Nowhere  in  the  world  can  a 
crowd  gather  more  quickly  than  in  a  college  yard,  and  no- 
where does  it  disperse  more  rapidly. 

"What  |s  your  idea?"  asked  Hunter,  as  soon  as  the  two 
had  ceased  laughing. 

"It  is  this,"  responded  the  other.  "I  have  taken  quite 
a  fancy  to  big  Gilkins.  What  do  you  say  if  I  were  to 
get  leave  for  him  to  come,  too?" 

Hunter  thought  some  time  before  answering. 

"This  requires  thinking  over,  even  before  you  ask  the 
President." 

"Why?" 

"Well,  in  the  first  place,  do  you  think  your  parents 
would  care  to  have  him  come?  Would  you  like  him  to 
sit  down  to  table  with  your  mother  and  sister?  May 
it  not  be  just  possible  to  carry  a  generous,  hospitable 
father's  son's  privilege  a  little  too  far?" 

"Good  gracious,  Howard,  how  serious  you  are !" 

"It's  rather  a  serious  matter." 

"No,  it  isn't.  What's  the  difference  if  he  does  not 
behave  with  the  very  best  of  decorum  and  all  that?" 

"This:  that  you  have  no  right  to  submit  your  mother 
and  father  nor  your  sister  to  any  such  annoyance,  and 
you  certainly  have  no  right  to  put  Gilkins  himself  in  a 
humiliating  position." 

"Gilkins,"  said   Bracebridge    earnestly,  "is  a  good — 


THE  INVITATION.  183 

downright  good — open,  hearty  fellow,  with  a  splendid 
loyal  heart.  I'll  see  that  he's  not  humiliated.  One  word 
to  papa,  and  everything  will  run  smoothly." 

"Are  you  sure?" 

"Quite.     I  will  easily  make  that  all  right  at  home." 

"But  will  it  be  all  right  here?  Remember  you  have 
now  to  sustain  the  reputation  of  St.  Cuthbert's.  You  are 
one  of  us  now." 

"Thanks !  and  I'm  proud  of  it.  St.  Cuthbert's  shall  not 
suffer." 

"Well,  then,  I  give  in.  I  have  no  opposition  to  Gil- 
kins.  I  begin  to  admire  his  sterling  earnestness.  I  was 
only  thinking  of  your  people's  possible  vexation.  Of 
course  you  understand  I  have  no  objection  except  on  that 
score." 

"Of  course.  Let's  go  and  see  what  the  President  says 
about  it.  Hi!  Claude,  come  over  here." 

When  he  of  the  incipient  mustache  had  joined  them, 
they  went  and  rapped  at  the  President's  office  door. 

"Come  in,  boys;  come  right  in,"  and  the  President  fin- 
ished a  psalm  he  was  reading  from  his  daily  office  without 
looking  up.  Then  putting  his  finger  between  the  leaves 
of  his  breviary,  he  turned  to  them. 

"The  prefect's  penances  too  heavy,  eh?"  asked  the  Fa- 
ther, his  eyes  twinkling  pleasantly  as  usual. 

"No  penances,  Father,"  said  Winters. 

"Well,  madcap,  what  do  you  want?" 

"I  really  don't  know,  Father;  these  two  called  me  over 
just  as  they  started  for  your  room.  I  don't  know  what 
they  want." 

"Called  you  to  make  the  delegation  stronger,  eh?  Oh, 
these  young  politicians!" 


184  THE  INVITATION. 

"That's  really  true,  Father,"  admitted  Hunter,  "but  it's 
Ambrose  who  has  to  do  the  talking  this  time." 

"Well,  my  boy,  what  can  I  do  for  you,  and  I  suppose, 
fon  these  rascals,  too  ?" 

The  permission  for  Bracebridge's  visit  was  renewed; 
that  for  Winters  finally  obtained.  Then  Bracebridge 
made  his  suggestion  concerning  Gilkins,  repeating  the  ob- 
jections of  Hunter  and  his  own  replies  to  them. 

"If  the  case  is  as  you  put  it,  Bracebridge,  I  grant  you 
the  permission  to  take  Gilkins.  I  am  very  glad  such  an 
occasion  has  presented  itself.  I  have  been  watching  him 
for  some  time  and  am  very  pleased  with  his  conduct.  His 
improvement  is  largely  owing  to  you  boys  taking  an  in- 
terest in  him." 

"Thanks,  Father,"  said  Hunter. 

"You  must  not  expect,  Ambrose,  that  he  will  be  a 
Chesterfield  in  this  visit ;  yet  it  will  broaden  his  views  and 
perhaps  give  him  ideas  which  in  his  present  satisfactory 
frame  of  mind  will  be  most  advantageous.  Do,  please, 
Claude,  keep  your  eyes  off  my  desk.  Don't  you  know 
there  are  the  questions  for  your  semi-annual  examina- 
tion?" 

"Oh,  Father,  I  wasn't  looking,  or  thinking  of  looking, 
at  them,  indeed  I  wasn't,"  said  the  blushing  Claude. 

"I  didn't  say  you  were,"  said  the  President,  laughing 
heartily  at  Claude's  discomfiture.  "I  only  said,  please  do 
keep  your  eyes  off." 

The  head  of  the  college  knew  when  he  could  unbend, 
and  when  be  serious.  How  differently  he  looked  and  acted 
with  these  boys  than  when  some  others  whom  we  know 
were  summoned  into  his  dread  presence. 

"Give  my  best  respects,  Bracebridge,  to  your  father. 


THE  INVITATION.  186 

Tell  him  to  be  sure  to  come  to  our  Christmas  plays.  I 
am  sorry  he  did  not  stay  longer  during  his  last  visit." 

"I  have  one  request  to  make,  Father,  please,"  said 
Claude.  He  was  still  blushing.  In  the  presence  of  the 
President  he  had  never  been  able  not  to  twirl  his  cap 
nervously ;  never  been  able  not  to  stand  first  on  one  foot 
and  then  on  the  other ;  never  yet  been  able  thoroughly  to 
know  what  to  do  with  his  hands.  Claude  was  not  sin- 
gular in  this.  Men  much  older  than  Claude  often  find 
themselves  in  the  same  predicament  when  in  the  presence 
of  those  who  represent  power,  influence,  or  money.  Is  not 
the  rich  merchant  nervous  before  the  bank  president? 
Does  not  the  heavy  shipper  frequently  take  off  his  hat  in 
the  office  of  the  general  freight  agent?  How  many  law- 
yers are  perfectly  self-possessed  in  court  in  the  presence 
of  the  judge? 

"Of  course.     What  is  it,  Claude?"  asked  the  President. 

"Gilkins  has  no  wheel,  sir,  and  he  is  not  much  of  a 
cyclist  if  he  had." 

"I  suppose,  after  all,  then,  he  had  better  stay  at  home." 

The  President  did  not  mean  this.  It  amused  him  to  see 
Claude  blush,  and  squirm  and  finally  blurt  out  his  pro- 
posal : 

"I  want  to  be  allowed  to  hire  a  horse  for  him  from  the 
livery  stable  down  on  Tenth  street." 

"You  do!  That  wouldn't  do,  my  boy.  He  would  not 
like  that,  either.  Nor  do  I  think  he  himself  is  allowed 
sufficient  pocket. money  for  such  extravagance." 

Claude's  face  fell.     The  others  looked  perplexed. 

"I  tell  you  what  I'll  do.  I  will  give  you  a  note  to  the 
farm  manager  to  have  Doll  at  the  front  door  by  nine 
o'clock  to-morrow  morning.  Will  that  do?" 


186  THE  INVITATION. 

"Oh,  thank  you,  Father,  thank  you,  thank  you!  You 
are  a — very  kind." 

Claude  was  in  his  enthusiasm,  going  to  say  a  "brick," 
but  reverence  for  the  President  stopped  him.  It  was  well 
it  did,  for  if  he  had  been  asked  to  explain  the  term,  it  is 
quite  possible  he  would  have  been  unable,  with  hundreds 
of  others,  to  say  why  the  name  of  a  piece  of  kiln-dried 
clay  should  be  chosen  to  express  approbation  of  some  per- 
sonal quality. 

Was  there  ever  so  surprised  a  boy  as  Clarence  Gilkins 
half  an  hour  later?  Had  he  dreamed  of  such  a  thing  as 
an  invitation  to  one  of  the  largest  and  best  private  houses 
in  the  State,  and  that  by  the  son  of  the  owner  and  as  a 
guest — had  he  dreamed  of  this  three  short  months  ago, 
he  would  have  begun  to  doubt  his  own  sanity. 

Bracebridge  and  his  friends  were  highly  pleased  with 
his  modest  but  earnest  self-deprecation  and  with  the 
many  ingeniously  invented  excuses  for  not  accepting  the 
invitation,  especially  as  under  it  all  they  detected  a  real 
desire  to  go.  They  were  delighted,  after  all  his  arguments 
against  himself  had  been  refuted,  to  see  him  finally  suc- 
cumb to  the  prospect  of  a  good  long  canter  on  horseback. 
He  was,  as  all  country  boys  are,  passionately  fond  of 
horses.  When  he  learned  that  a  saddle  horse  had  been 
placed  at  his  disposal  all  his  reluctance  gave  way.  He 
could  not  resist  that. 

"Rah  for  Stalksey !"  shouted  Claude,  as  he  skipped 
around  him  in  glee. 

Gilkins,  on  hearing  the  latest  nickname,  became  very 
serious. 

"Look  here,  Winters,"  he  said,  "if  you  fellows  are  going 
out  there  to  call  me  nicknames,  you  can  count  me  out. 


THE  INVITATION.  187 

I'm  awkward  enough,  I  know,  without  having  gentlemen 
and  ladies  laughing  at  me  through  you." 

"No,  no,  no,  no,  old  man.  Of  course  I  won't.  It's  all 
my  fun  among  ourselves.  Trust  me,  Clarence,  I  promise 
you  to  do  nothing  to  annoy  you  there." 

"If  he  does,  I  have  a  little  story  on  him  which  happened 
last  year  before  you  came,  about  a  certain  substance  in 
solution,  and  a  certain — "  began  Hunter,  mischievously. 

"Oh,  Howard,  please  don't  give  me  away,"  interrupted 
Claude  in  a  pleading  tone. 

"What  is  it?"  eagerly  asked  Gilkins,  who  was  anxious 
to  get  a  hold  on  his  young  tease. 

"Don't  tell  him,  Howard,"  and  there  was  a  world  of 
pleading  in  the  madcap's  voice. 

"I  will — "  began  Howard. 

"Do,  do,"  urged  Gilkins. 

"Don't,  please  don't,"  begged  Claude  again. 

"Well,  I  won't,  unless  I  see  you  begin  at  Gilkins. any 
time  to-morrow  while  we  are  at  the  Manor." 

The  reader  of  these  chronicles  of  St.  Cuthbert's  college 
has  probably  not  forgotten  that  when  Major  Brace- 
bridge's  black  team  ran  away  near  the  college  the  pre- 
vious year,  and  was  cleverly  stopped  by  some  of  the  young 
people  who  figure  in  these  pages,  Claude  Winters  had 
dipped  up  water  with  his  hat  from  a  ditch  to  resuscitate 
the  fainting  Rose  Bracebridge.  On  that  occasion  her  face 
and  hat  and  dress  had  been  deluged  with  yellow  liquid 
mud.  For  weeks  after,  Claude  did  not  hear  the  last  of 
the  episode,  all  his  friends  teasing  him  most  unmerci- 
fully for  using  even  a  fainting  lady  so  uncavalierly.  This 
year  the  incident  had  been  forgotten  until  this  minute, 
when  Hunter  had  revived  it. 


188  THE  INVITATION. 

Winters  was,  for  some  reason  or  other,  more  sensitive 
to  this  bit  of  chaffing  than  to  anything  else.  That  is  the 
reason  why  he  pleaded  so  earnestly  with  Hunter  not  to 
divulge  the  secret  to  one  who  as  yet  had  heard  nothing 
of  it. 

The  morning  broke,  a  bright,  crisp  December  day. 
At  nine  the  four  started  on  their  ten-mile  spin — three  on 
wheels,  and  the  fourth  proudly  mounted  on  a  fine  saddle 
horse.  Cycling,  although  not  conducive  to  general  con- 
versation, has  a  fascination  all  its  own.  It  keeps  the 
mind  alert,  exercising  every  muscle  in  the  body  and  set- 
ting the  blood  a-tingling.  The  bracing  wind  and  ex- 
hilarating exercise  painted  the  boys'  cheeks,  and  made 
their  usually  bright  eyes  now  snap  and  sparkle. 

They  had  traveled  a  little  over  half  the  journey  when 
they  met  Major  Bracebridge's  coachman  driving  a  small 
wagonette.  He  was  coming  toward  St.  Cuthbert's  to 
bring  his  young  master  home.  He  turned  his  horses. 

"There  is  room  for  your  bicycles,  gentlemen,  as  well 
as  yourselves,  if  you  care  to  jump  in." 

"Oh,  no,  John,"  said  Ambrose,  "you  don't  catch  us  in 
a  carriage  when  the  roads  are  good  enough  for  wheel- 
ing." 

Not  to  be  too  tired,  however,  or  overheated  on  their 
•arrival,  they  rode  the  last  mile,  Ambrose  telling  the 
driver  to  drive  slowly. 

When  the  party  arrived  at  the  gates  of  the  avenue  the 
boys  saw  the  grand  old  trees  in  all  their  winter  bareness. 
The  large  pines  and  cedars  and  firs  gave  the  grounds  a 
certain  unique  winter  beauty.  The  mansion,  instead  of 
being  covered  with  one  mass  of  green  creeping  vines, 
was  now  merely  veined  over  with  clinging,  delicate  stems 


THE  INVITATION.  189 

much  resembling  arteries.     It  had  a  winter  beauty  all 
its  own. 

"I  am  sorry  I've  come!"  said  Claude,  suddenly. 

"Why?"  said  Howard,  in  unfeigned  astonishment. 

"Because  my  mental  picture  of  the  beauty — the  sum- 
mer beauty — of  Rosecroft  Manor,  with  all  its  wonderful 
display  of  roses  and  rich  foliage,  is  now  destroyed  by  this 
winter  scene." 

"Hurry  up,  Ambrose;  land  him  gently,"  said  Howard. 
"He's  gone  sentimental.  Take  him  quickly  into  the 
house.  He  may  have  a  fit.  Poor  fellow!  Isn't  it  sad! 
So  young,  too!" 

"If  these  wheels  weren't  between  me  and — "  began 
Claude,  but  he  never  finished.  Ambrose  shouted : 

"There's  papa  at  the  door.     Whip  up,  John." 

The  carriage  came  round  the  circular  front  drive  in 
good  style.  Gilkins  followed  close  to  the  carriage/^ 
Barely  letting  the  horses  stop,  Ambrose  sprang  out  and 
embraced  his  father.  The  two  boys  in  the  carriage  saw 
a  hurried  whisper  and  caught  a  few  words — "Gilkins — 
our  side — put  the  shot — rough  diamond — good  fellow — 
splendid — thanks,"  and  they  knew  the  day  would  be  a 
pleasant  one  for  Clarence  Gilkins. 


190  G1LKINS  FIXDS  FRIENDS. 


CHAPTER  XXII. 

GILKINS  FINDS  FRIENDS. 

"CLAUDE  is  sorry  he  came,  mamma,"  said  Ambrose,  as 
soon  as  he  had  embraced  his  mother  and  sister. 

"Oh,  Mrs.  Bracebridge,  please  do  not  believe  him ! 
He's  worse  than  Howard  for  saying  things  about  me, 
isn't  he,  Stal — I  mean,  isn't  he,  Gilkins  ?" 

"Indeed  I  do  not  believe  him  in  this  case,"  said  Mrs. 
Bracebridge.  "You  are  heartily  welcome,  all  of  you." 

"What's  my  boy  been  saying  about  you,  Master 
Claude?"  asked  the  Major. 

"He  is  the  one  that's  saying  it  all,"  interposed  the 
Major's  son,  laughing.  "He  began  by  talking  about  men- 
tal pictures  and  phantasms  of  Rosecroft  just  now,  so  that 
we  thought  he  was  going  to  have  a  fit." 

"Don't  you  believe  them,  Mr.  Bracebridge,  either," 
said  Claude.  "I  said  I  was  sorry  I  came  here  in  winter, 
because  of  my  recollection  of  the  beauty  of  the  place  in 
the  summer.  It  has  a  winter  beauty,  too,  but  it  is  not 
so  pretty  in  winter  here  as  in  summer,  is  it,  sir?" 

"Of  course  not,  my  lad.  These  boys  can't  appreciate 
beauty,  Claude,  can  they?  I  tell  you  what,"  he  said, 
winking  at  Claude,  "you  and  I  will  be  a  match  for  them 
yet  before  the  day  is  out,  won't  we,  eh?  and  then — 
and  the  fun-loving  Major  began  to  make  motions  to 
indicate  that  other  fellows'  sides  and  arms  would  be  sore 
before  the  valiant  pair  had  done  with  them. 


OILB.INS  FINDS  FRIENDS.  191 

"At  all  events,  gentlemen,  I  am  delighted  you  have 
come,  and  so  is  mamma,  and  so  is  Rose,  too.  By  the 
way,  here,  Ambrose,  are  Howard  and  Claude,  but  you 
haven't  told  me  your  new  friend's  name." 

"This  is  Clarence  Gilkins,  pa,"  said  Ambrose,  "and  I 
must  apoligize  to  him  and  to  you  for  not  introducing 
him  before — it  was,  of  course,  Claude's  fault.  He  is  on 
our  side  at  college;  you  remember  he  won  two  prizes  on 
the  field-day?  He  is  one  of  our  set." 

The  host  and  hostess  warmly  welcomed  Gilkins,  tell- 
ing him  that  with  such  recommendations  he  was  wel- 
come. Long  ago  the  Major  had  learned  from  his  son's 
letters  what  "our  side"  and  "our  set"  meant.  He  saw 
at  a  glance  that  the  boy  had  not  received  such  advan- 
tages as  the  other  three,  yet  he  was  quick  to  notice  a 
good  honest  soul  shining  out  of  good  honest  eyes.  He 
was  pleased  with  Ambrose  for  having  been  kind  to  him. 

"Well,  Clarence,"  said  the  warm-hearted  Major,  again 
heartily  shaking  his  hand.  "I  am  glad  you  have  come. 
You  must  make  yourself  perfectly  at  home.  I  have 
heard  all  about  you  from  my  boy's  letters.  He  has  said 
lots  of  good  things  of  you." 

"Of  me,  sir!  Ambrose!"  said  big  Gilkins,  very  much 
astonished. 

"Of  course.  Keep  on  the  way  you  are  going,  my  lad; 
act  on  principle,  not  because  you  always  like  it,  but  be- 
cause it's  right,  and  there  is  no  telling  what  honorable 
career  is  before  you.  You  are  very  welcome." 

Gilkins  had  never  in  his  life  been  made  so  much  of. 
How  kind  everybody  was !  Who  would  believe,  thought 
he,  that  these  rich  and  great  people  could  be  so  kind  and 
pleasant  and  have  so  little  ceremony  about  them.  And 


192  GILKINS  FINDS  FRIENDS. 

then  to  be  treated  with  such  equality !  It  made  him  think 
more  of  himself,  that  is,  it  gave  him  more  self-respect. 
The  visit  to  Rosecroft  Manor  was  having  just  that  bene- 
ficial effect  on  him  which  the  President  of  St.  Cuthbert's 
had  anticipated. 

He  had  never  been  in  so  fine  a  house  in  his  life.  Pic- 
tures, majolica  ware,  vases,  palms,  rich,  old-fashioned  fur- 
niture, flowers,  and,  permeating  all,  the  grace  of  a  per- 
fectly refined  home,  were  revelations  to  this  boy.  Crude 
as  he  was,  in  a  certain  way  he  was  keenly  observant.  He 
learned  many  things  from  his  visit. 

"Have  the  St.  Cuthbert  folks,  Ambrose,  yet  made  you 
a  Catholic?"  asked  Major  Bracebridge  at  the  early  dinner. 
He  put  the  question,  partly  in  earnest,  partly  in  jest. 

"Would  you  object,  sir,  if  they  had?" 

"Not  in  the  least,  my  boy,  providing  that  if  you  change 
you  become  a  good  one." 

"No,  sir,  I  have  not  changed,"  replied  the  son.  "The 
fact  is,  there  has  not  been  a  single  person  since  I  have 
been  there  who  has  said  a  word  to  me  about  religion." 

"What — do  you  mean  to  say  that  no  one  has  attempted 
to  make  a  Roman  Catholic  of  you?"  and  he  winked  at  the 
other  boys,  showing  them  he  was  only  joking. 

"No  one.  Indeed,  pa,  they  are  very  fair.  I  must  con- 
fess that  when  I  first  went  I  was  a  little  afraid  they  would 
try.  But  they  did  not." 

"Yes,  we  did,"  put  in  Claude,  to  the  astonishment  of 
everybody. 

"No,  you  did  not,  not  one.  Nobody  did  anything  ex- 
cept answer  some  questions." 

"Yes,  we  did,"  persisted  the  small-sized  Philosopher. 

"When?    How?    I  don't  remember," 


GILKIN8  FINDS  FRIENDS.  193 

"We  did  try,  sir,  to  make  Ambrose  a  Catholic.  We  are 
trying  yet." 

"Don't  believe  them,  father.  Claude  is  romancing 
again." 

"No,  I  am  not.  I'll  show  you  how  I'm  not.  We  have 
a  little  society  among  Ambrose's  friends  who  have  bound 
themselves  to  pray  for  his  conversion  to  the  Catholic 
faith." 

Whether  Winters  should  have  publicly  revealed  the 
secret  of  this  organization,  which  was  founded  during 
their  visit  to  the  Manor  the  previous  June,  is  a  matter  of 
dispute  among  the  friends  to  this  day. 

The  revelation  wonderfully  affected  Major  Brace- 
bridge.  After  a  long  pause,  he  said  in  an  earnest  and 
subdued  tone : 

"I  was  partly  joking  when  I  began  these  questions,  but 
what  you  say  about  your  little  society  touches  me  deeply. 
You  boys  must  value  a  faith  very  much  which  would 
induce  you  to  take  such  measures  for  a  friend's  conver- 
sion to  it.  I  thank  you  very  much,  for  I  know  you  wish 
my  son  well.  But,  Howard,  will  you  answer  me  one 
question?" 

"If  I  can,  sir,  I  will." 

"Very  good.  Now,  do  you,  as  a  Catholic,  believe  that 
I,  because  I  am  not  of  your  Church,  will  not  be  saved?" 

"Do  you  believe  the  Catholic  Church  to  be  right  and 
your  own  wrong?"  asked  Hunter,  by  way  of  preliminary 
reply. 

"Certainly  not." 

"Would  you  be  willing,  sir,  to  accept  the  Catholic 
faith  if  you  were  to  think  it  was  the  true  faith?" 

"Under  those  conditions  I  certainly  would." 


194  GILKINS  FINDS  FRIENDS. 

"Now,  sir,  I  hope  you  will  not  be  offended  if  I  ask  an 
apparently  impertinent  question." 

"Not  i»  the  least.    Do  not  be  afraid.    What  is  it?" 

"It  is  this.  Are  you  baptized  ?"  said  Howard,  blushing 
at  his  own  boldness. 

"Of  course.  All  of  us.  We  are  Christians.  Did  you 
think  we  were  pagans?" 

Major  Bracebridge  appeared  highly  amused  at  the 
boy's  question. 

"Then,  sir,"  said  Howard,  ''I  believe  you  will  be  saved 
if  you  avoid  mortal  sin,  or  perfectly  repent  of  it,  for  you 
belong  to  the  soul  of  the  Church.  I  believe  you  are  in 
good  faith.  I  beg  your  pardon,  Major  Bracebridge," 
said  the  blushing  boy,  "for  talking  so  plainly  and  asking 
you  so  many  questions.  I  am  only  a  boy  and  it  sounded 
impertinent,  but  you  asked  me  to  speak  as  a  Catholic." 

"Capital,"  said  the  Major,  "but  I  think  I  have  you  yet. 
If  you  think  I  shall  be  saved  if  I  avoid  mortal  sin — 
because  the  supposition  is  I  am  in  good  faith  and  there- 
fore belong  to  the  soul  of  the  Church  but  do  not  belong 
to  the  body  or  visible  society — what  then  is  the  necessity 
for  me  to  be  a  professing  Catholic  at  all,  since  I  am  safe 
as  it  is?" 

"Excuse  me,  sir,"  said  Howard,  still  blushing  furiously, 
"you  pertain  to  the  soul  of  the  Church  so  long  as  you 
are  invincibly  and  inculpably  ignorant  of  her  demands 
upon  you,  because  just  in  proportion  to  your  blameless 
ignorance  are  "you  in  good  faith.  Then,  being  outside  the 
visible  Church,  you  are  deprived  of  her  sacraments. 
These,  as  you  know,  are  outward  visible  signs,  instituted 
by  Christ,  of  inward  and  spiritual  graces.  A  man  without 
these,  it  seems  to  me,  is  like  a  man  without  arms  and 


.     GILKINS  FINDS  FRIENDS.  195 

legs;  still  a  man,  yet  without  the  almost  essential  aid  to 
living." 

Major  Bracebridge  saw  that  Hunter  spoke  about 
these  things  with  evident  reluctance,  not  wishing  to  give 
offense.  He  was  pleased  with  the  boy's  ready  and  clear 
answers,  given  with  earnest  conviction  and  without  com- 
promise. The  young  man's  words,  indeed,  gave  the  host 
food  for  reflection  for  many  a  subsequent  hour. 

Not  wishing  to  torment  the  boy,  or  destroy  the  pleas- 
ure of  his  meal,  the  Major  turned  the  conversation  to 
horses. 

On  this  subject  Gilkins  was  quite  at  home,  and  the 
other  boys  took  a  kindly  pleasure  in  drawing  him  out. 
Soon  he  and  their  host  were  deep  in  the  mysteries  of 
"points"  and  racers  and  roadsters,  which  ended  by  the 
Major  and  Gilkins  walking  off,  as  soon  as  the  ladies 
arose  from  table,  and  inspecting  the  stables,  where  sev- 
eral fine  animals  were  stalled. 

It  was  rather  late  in  the  afternoon  when  the  four  boys 
left  the  hospitable  Manor.  Mr.  Bracebridge  wanted  to 
send  them  home  in  a  carriage,  but  they  would  not  hear 
of  that.  All  were  too  fond  of  cycling,  and  had  not  Gilkins 
a  fine  roadster? 

Rose  Bracebridge  and  her  mother  shook  Gilkins'  hand 
warmly  at  parting.  Their  entertaining  had  been  so  sin- 
cere and  so  kindly,  and  their  leave-taking  so  genuine, 
that  the  big  fellow  was  enchanted. 

A  new  field  of  vision  had  opened  on  his  mental  hori- 
zon. 

He  had  been  put  so  much  at  his  ease  during  the  visit, 
that  by  the  time  of  departure  his  hands  and  feet  had 
ceased  to  appear  gigantic  and  excessively  in  the  way.  In 


196  OILKINS  FINDS  FRIENDS. 

fact  he  forgot  them,  and  this,  for  Gilkins,  was  certainly  a 
great  stride  forward. 

On  his  way  home,  his  laudations  of  the  whole  family, 
while  evidently  genuine,  were,  to  Ambrose's  mind,  so 
extravagant,  that  that  young  gentleman,  in  sheer  self- 
defense,  had  to  stop  them.  This  he  did  by  calling  for  a 
sprint. 

Now  we  know  from  the  field-day  classification  of  the 
wheelmen  that  Claude  Winters  was  far  below  Hunter  in 
speed,  and  it  is  therefore  not  surprising  that  the  other 
two  soon  began  to  draw  away  from  him. 

"Go  on,"  Claude  shouted,  "don't  wait  for  me.  I'll  get 
home  a  few  minutes  after  you.  Neither  of  you  can  beat 
Gilkins'  horse,  anyway." 

The  two  wheelmen  and  the  man  in  the  saddle  settled 
down  to  a  good  six  miles'  spin.  In  their  enjoyment  they 
did  not  notice  that  they  were  rapidly  increasing  the  dis- 
tance between  Claude  and  themselves.  At  a  bend  of  the 
road,  five  miles  from  the  college,  Claude  lost  sight  of 
them  altogether. 

On  arriving  at  the  college  the  three  at  once  reported  to 
the  prefect. 

"I  thought  Claude  Winters  went  too,"  said  Mr.  Shal- 
ford. 

"Yes,  sir,  he  is  behind  on  the  road.  He  will  be  here 
in  a  few  minutes  We  outrode  him  altogether,"  said 
Hunter. 

The  few  minutes  lengthened  into  half  an  hour,  three- 
quarters,  an  hour,  and  no  Claude  appeared.  The  Presi- 
dent, who  knew  of  Mr.  Winters'  anxiety  at  this  particu- 
lar time,  when  he  learned  of  the  boy's  absence,  began 
now  to  regret  having  granted  the  permission  to  go  so 


OILKIN8  FIN  Dm  FRIENDS.  197 

far  from  the  college.  Suppose  now  there  had  happened 
that  which  Claude's  father  particularly  dreaded!  When 
the  hour  had  elapsed  he  told  Gilkins  to  procure  another 
horse  from  the  stables  and  retrace  his  steps  to  the  spot 
where  they  had  separated. 

Gilkins  fully  expected  to  meet  Claude  close  to  home, 
but  he  went  over  four  miles  without  a  trace  of  him. 
Then  he  began  to  get  nervous  for  his  little  friend,  fearful 
that  some  mishap  had  befallen  him.  It  was  now  almost 
dark.  He  asked  every  one  whom  he  met  whether  they 
had  seen  a  solitary  college  boy  on  a  wheel  going  in  the 
direction  of  St.  Cuthbert's.  He  could  get  no  information 
in  this  way.  Just  at  the  bend  of  the  road  where  Claude 
had  lost  sight  of  his  companions  Gilkins  saw  a  light  in 
front  of  a  farmhouse  near  the  road.  Coming  nearer,  he 
discerned  that  it  was  a  lantern  on  the  front  porch.  Near 
it,  leaning  against  the  house,  was  Claude's  wheel. 

Hastily  dismounting,  he  rapped  at  the  door  and  in- 
quired for  the  missing  boy. 

"Yes,  a  college  student  is  here.  Did  you  come  from 
the  college?"  inquired  a  kindly-faced  farmer,  whose 
coarse,  even  squalid  working-clothes  and  prosaic  sur- 
roundings appeared  in  strange  contrast  to  his  intelligent 
face  and  careful  manner  of  speaking. 

''Yes,  I  came  from  there.  We  are  anxious  about  him. 
Is  he  here?  What  is  the  matter?" 

"I'm  all  right,  Gilkie,  old  man.  Come  right  in,"  came 
Claude's  voice  from  an  inside  room. 

"What  are  you  stopping  here  for,  then,  instead  of 
coming  home?"  asked  Gilkins,  as  he  entered  the  cosy 
sleeping-room. 

The  farmer  answered  for  him.     He  was  coming  up 


198  GILKINS  FINDS  FRIENDS. 

Undertaker's  Hill,  as  most  of  the  bicyclists  call  the  steep 
incline  just  around  the  bend,  when  his  wheel  struck  a 
stone  and  he  was  thrown.  I  saw  him  fall  and  ran  to  help 
him.  He  received  a  slight  cut  on  his  head,  and  has 
badly  sprained  his  ankle.  Already  he  cannot  stand  on  it. 
A  dark-skinned  man,  with  remarkably  black  eyes,  hap- 
pened to  be  passing  and  he  helped  me  to  carry  him  into 
the  house.  This  man  said  he  knew  the  boy,  and  would 
go  and  fetch  a  carriage  for  him." 

"Who  was  it,  Claude?  It  could  have  been  no  one 
from  the  college,  because  everybody  there  is  anxious 
about  you." 

"I'm  sure  I  don't  know,"  answered  Claude.  "I  was 
half-stunned,  you  know,  and  don't  remember  much.  It 
seemed,  however,  that  I  had  seen  the  face  somewhere, 
but  for  the  life  of  me  I  cannot  recall  where.  Ouch!" 

The  last  word  was  occasioned  by  the  good-natured 
farmer's  wife  attempting  to  move  the  injured  foot  while 
bathing  it  in  cool  water. 

"Can't  he  be  moved?"  asked  Gilkins. 

"I  do  not  think  so,"  said  the  man  of  the  house.  "At 
least  not  till  morning." 

"Will  you  take  care  of  him  until  a  carriage  comes  in 
the  morning?" 

"As  I  would  of  my  own  boy."  said  the  woman.  "Tell 
the  Fathers  at  the  college  not  to  be  the  least  bit  uneasy 
about  him.  You  can  have  him  in  the  morning,  but  the 
poor  child  cannot  be  moved  to-night.  If  the  stranger 
comes  with  the  carriage  he  said  he.  was  going  for,  I'll 
pay  him  for  his  trouble,  but  I  won't  let  the  boy  go." 

There  was  nothing  for  Gilkins  to  do  but  to  ride  post- 
haste back  and  report.  An  hour  or  so  later,  a  carriage 


SOME  HISTRIONIC  FUN.  199 

from  the  college  drove  up  to  the  farmhouse,  but  as 
Claude  had  just  dozed  off  to  sleep  between  a  pair  of 
immaculate,  lavender-perfumed  sheets,  Mr.  Shalford  did 
not  disturb  him.  After  heartily  thanking  the  hospitable 
farmer  and  his  wife,  he  promised  to  come  for  the  boy 
early  in  the  morning. 

When  the  President  heard  Gilkins'  story  of  the  prom- 
ised carriage  by  the  stranger,  he  sent  two  able-bodied, 
trustworthy  farmhands  to  watch  the  house  all  night,  with 
order  to  permit  no  one,  no  matter  what  the  reason  given, 
to  remove  Winters. 


CHAPTER  XXIII. 

SOME  HISTRIONIC  FUN. 

CLAUDE  was  lame  for  a  couple  of  weeks.  During  the 
night  in  which  he  was  so  kindly  treated  by  the  hospitable 
people  at  the  farmhouse,  the  mysterious  carriage  failed  to 
appear.  The  incident  was  soon  forgotten,  and  never 
recalled  by  Claude  until  some  months  later  and  many 
hundreds  of  miles  away  from  the  spot  where  he  met  with 
his  accident. 

At  length  the  year  drew  to  a  close.  Many  events 
occurred  worthy  of  chronicling.  Regretfully  we  have  to 
pass  over  the  account  of  the  fun  and  frolic  of  the  plays 
during  the  Christmas  holidays  of  that  year.  Oh,  those 
Christmas  plays!  Is  there  any  other  form  of  amusement 
equal  to  them?  The  practice;  the  costuming;  the  make- 
up ;  the  dress  rehearsal ;  the  delight  and  the  stage  fright ! 
That  transforming  grease-paint!  How  charming  the 


200  SOME  HISTRIONIC  FUN. 

faces  look  from  a  distance!    What  frights  when  seen  in 
a  looking-glass! 

What  old  student — now  a  grave  and  reverend  senior — 
whose  sons  are  now  attending  St.  Cuthbert's  and  cutting 
and  scratching  the  desks  as  their  father,  in  his  day,  did 
before  them — does  not  look  back  with  a  longing  regret 
to  those  times  of  long  ago,  now  vanished  like  a  dream 
forever?  When  he  opens  the  college  paper  and  sees  his 
boy's  ambitious  contribution,  he  lives  his  own  school-days 
over  again.  As  he  reads  the  youngster's  article  there  is 
a  kindling  warmth  around  his  eyes.  He  sees,  too,  in 
imagination,  and  with  a  joy  all  his  own,  his  child's  eyes 
sparkling  with  pride  and  satisfaction,  while  wondering 
what  pa  will  think  of  his  effort. 

What  does  pa — the  now  grave  and  reverend  senior — 
think  of  the  effort?  Is  he  pleased?  Is  he  satisfied? 
Under  that  vest  now  assuming  aldermanic  proportions 
there  beats  a  heart  that  is  as  young  as  that  of  his  boy. 
What  though  he  finds  the  old  leather-bound  armchair — 
of  aldermanic  proportions,  too — daily  more  and  more  to 
his  liking,  yet  the  heart  beneath  the  top  buttons  of  that 
vest  beats  in  youthful  unison  with  his  own  boy's!  He 
reads  the  article.  He  chuckles  and  laughs  and  laughs 
again.  It's  all  right,  sir,  you  are  alone  in  your  smoking 
den.  Your  grave  and  reverend  business  cronies  down- 
town will  never  know,  not  even  "mamma"  downstairs 
awaiting  you  and  the  dinner-bell,  will  ever  know  that  you 
actually  danced — all  to  yourself  and  unobserved — actu- 
ally danced  a  fandango  of  delight  at  your  boy's  first 
appearance  in  his  college  journal!  Your  secret's  safe 
with  me. 

The  father  drops  into  a  brown  study.    In  retrospective 


SOME  HISTRIONIC  FUN,  201 

mood  he  rises  from  his  chair,  turns  the  light  higher, 
unlocks  the  glass  doors  of  his  bookcase,  and — of  course 
he  wants  something  to  read  to  while  away  a  half-hour 
before  dinner ! — takes  out  an  old  bound  copy  of  the  college 
journal  of  over  twenty  years  ago.  Heigho !  time  flies ! 
Of  course  it  is  by  accident  that  he  turns  to  his  own  first 
printed  composition,  and,  of  course,  by  accident  again,  his 
own  and  his  boy's  productions  are  placed  side  by  side. 

He  does  not  intend  to  institute  a  comparison.  The 
idea!  As  if  a  boy  could  write  as  well  as  his  father!  He 
reads  his  own  article.  Yes,  in  the  light  of  his  own  now 
more  mature  knowledge  he  sees  there  are  a  few  involved 
and  more  or  less  obscure  sentences.  The  ideas  are  not 
quite  so  clear  as  he  thought  they  were  when  he  first 
proudly  saw  them  in  print! 

Then  he  reads  his  son's  effort.  What !  More  lucid ! 
Better  construction  of  sentences!  Clearer,  sounder 
thought!  Is  it  possible  that  the  young  rascal  has  out- 
stripped his  own  father?  The  next  letter  that  Harry  or 
Willie  receives  from  home  contains  a  five  dollar  bill. 
vVhat  was  that  for,  I  wonder? 

The  father  passes  from  his  boy's  article  to  other  items 
in  the  college  journal.  Ah,  here's  an  account  of  the  col- 
lege Christmas  plays!  Here's  that  young  rascal  again 
figuring  prominently.  Well,  the  young  rascal's  father 
did  the  same  when  he  was  a  boy.  The  preternaturally 
wise  criticism  of  the  actors  histrionic  capacities,  by  one 
of  their  own  number,  is  read.  He  smiles,  and  turns  to 
his  own  old  copy.  Yes,  there's  a  similar  account  of  him- 
self. History  is  repeating  itself,  almost  to  the  details. 
While  he  reads  he  is  living  over  his  own  triumphs  again 
in  those  of  his  son. 


202  SOME  HISTRIONIC  FUN. 

The  paper  drops  from  his  hand.  Another  brown  study. 
He  is  again  on  the  old  stage  in  the  gymnasium — not  the 
fine  modern  stage  of  St.  Cuthbert's — and  he  lives  over 
again  an  evening  of  long  ago.  How  the  footlights  smoke ! 
How  his  stage  sword  will  get  between  his  legs!  What 
fears  that  that  fierce  mustache  will  not  stay  on!  That 
stupid  prompter  is  barely  whispering.  Speak  out,  man ! 
Throw  your  voice  to  the  back  scene,  and  the  audience 
will  never  hear  you,  even  if  you  were  to  shout.  Isn't  it 
suffocatingly  hot!  The  face  powder  must  be  coming  off. 
(His  acting  was  done  in  the  days  long  before  the  advent 
of  grease-paints.) 

The  old  gentleman,  or  rather  the  elderly  gentleman, 
remembers  how  angry  he  was  when,  coming  off  the 
stage  in  a  burst  of  glory  and  amid  a  storm  of  applause, 
some  one  maliciously  held  up  a  looking-glass  before  him, 
and  he  saw  that  the  rivulets  of  perspiration  had  cut  chan- 
nels through  the  powder  and  made  his  face  resemble  that 
of  a  striped  zebra !  Then  how  angry  was  the  professor  of 
Rhetoric  who  had  trained  the  boys,  when  the  actors 
would  dance  behind  the  curtain  during  the  interludes. 
He  remembered  with  amusement  that  the  same  staid  pro- 
fessor had  almost  danced  himself  when  the  curtain 
dropped  for  the  last  time  on  "the  most  successful  play 
the  boys  had  ever  produced." 

"Ah,  well,"  he  said  to  himself,  "we  boys  used  to  think 
those  professors  and  prefects  of  old  St.  Cuthbert's  were 
pretty  much  of  tyrants  in  those  days.  I  guess  my  boys 
at  St.  Cuthbert's  of  the  present  day  think  their  successors 
are  just  about  the  same.  But  bless  their  dear  old  hearts. 
They  trained  me  in  head  and  heart  too,  so  that  through 
them  I  am  what  I  am  to-day.  God  bless  those  old  hard- 


SOME  HISTRIONIC  FUN.  203 

working,  devoted  men;  and  God  bless  their  successors 
too." 

It  is  hard  to  say  where  these  reminiscences  would  have 
led,  had  not  the  wife's  call  to  dinner,  and  the  postman's 
knock,  bringing  the  evening  mail  with  letters  from  his 
boys,  broken  up  the  reverie.  Time  had  turned  backward 
for  one  short  half  hour  and  the  man  had  been  a  boy 
again. 

"The  pranks  we  played  with  paint  and  powder  and 
costume"  brings  us  back  to  an  event  which  occurred  not 
long  after  the  Christmas  holidays  of  the  year  in  which 
our  joung  friends  graduated. 

It  all  happened  in  this  wise. 

John  Philip  Watkins  Gray,  who  believed  he  could 
take  care  of  himself,  but  who  found  that  in  practice  it 
was  not  so  easy  as  in  theory,  had  been  appointed  a 
"supe,"  or  attendant  soldier  in  the  suite  of  Solinus,  duke 
of  Ephesus,  in  Shakespeare's  "Comedy  of  Errors,"  which 
had  been  given  by  the  larger  boys  that  Christmas  week. 
His  helmet  and  shield  and  spear,  as  well  as  his  trunks 
and  tights  and  stage  boots,  had  all  suited  and  fitted  him 
well.  Having  no  experience  in  stage  make-up,  he  had 
permitted  some  wag  to  paste  on  his  upper  lip  a  thick 
black  mustache  large  enough  to  make  five  of  the  fiercest 
mustaches  ever  worn  by  the  fiercest  whiskerandos.  It 
appeared  to  the  audience  "like  a  thick  black  brush  stuck 
beneath  his  nose."  His  face,  to  be  in  keeping  with  the 
mustache,  had  been  daubed  and  darkened  by  unskillful 
hands,  so  that  he  partly  resembled  a  very  sick  negro  and 
partly  typified  the  burlesque  policeman. 

The  novel  position  of  being  behind  the  footlights  made 
him  unusually  awkward.  He  knew  not  how  to  stand,  nor 


204  SOME  HISTRIONIC  FUN. 

walk,  nor  move  with  any  kind  of  grace  or  with  even 
passable  ease. 

Several  boys  watched  him  with  amusement  uncon- 
cealed. It  is  not  surprising,  therefore,  that  a  few  days 
after  the  Christmas  holidays,  when  routine  work  had  been 
resumed  with  all  its  rigor,  and  there  was  absolutely 
"nothing  going  on,"  that  five  or  six  boys  were  seen  with 
their  heads  together,  hatching  out  some  scheme.  Had 
one  listened  he  would  have  learned  that  John  Philip 
Watkins  Gray  was  the  destined  victim. 

"Come  over  to  the  music-room,  Gray,"  said  one  of  the 
conspirators,  as  that  individual  sauntered  up  to  the 
group;  "we  have  an  important  proposition  to  make  to 
you." 

John  Philip  Watkins  Gray  made  the  great  mistake  of 
his  life  and — went. 

"We  watched  you  on  the  stage  during  the  play,"  said 
one,  "and  we  are  all  sure  that  you  have  great  dramatic 
ability.  Isn't  that  so,  boys?" 

The  other  five  gave  demonstrative  assent.  Gray  began 
to  believe  that  he  had  cut  a  fine  figure  on  the  stage  after 
all. 

"H-h'm,"  he  coughed.  This  was  intended  for  a  modest 
disclaimer. 

"Now  don't  be  bashful,  Gray,"  said  the  first  speaker, 
"you  have  talent  in  that  line,  and  we  know  it.  It  isn't 
everybody  who  can  realize  his  own  talent  at  once,  but 
we  are  sure  that  long  ago  you  have  discovered  your  own 
powers.  We  consider  you  a  first-class  actor — one  of  the 
best  we  have  at  college.  I  consider  it  a  shame  they  did 
not  give  you  the  part  of  a  Dromio,  or  an  Antipholus,  or 
at  least  that  of  Solinus.  You  would  have  beaten  any  one 


SOME  HISTRIONIC  FUN.  205 

who  took  these  parts  in  the  Comedy  of  Errors,  and  that's 
saying  a  good  deal." 

Gray  began  to  believe  that  after  all  he  must  be  an 
actor,  although  previously  not  conscious  of  it.  He  looked 
gratified. 

"Oh,  come!  You're  putting  it  on  too  thick,  Smith," 
whispered  Conspirator  No.  2  to  the  spokesman. 

"No  danger.  He  hasn't  gumption  enough.  See,  he's 
beginning  to  nibble  already,"  was  the  reply,  given  sotto 
voce,  and  then,  aloud,  Smith  said: 

"Of  course  you  have  been  in  lots  of  plays  at  home, 
eh?" 

"Of  co — that  is,  I  once  recited  'How  doth  the  little 
busy  bee'  at  our  parish  school." 

"Ah!  that's  the  ticket.  How  does  it  go?  Like  this, 
isn't  it? 

"How  doth  the  little  busy  wasp 
Delight  to  bark  and  bite, 
And  gather  honey  all  the  day 
And  eat  it  up  at  night." 

"Splendid!  You're  the  man — the  coming  man.  Now 
see  here,  old  fellow !  We  have  decided  that  your  talents 
have  been  hidden  in  a  coal  sack  too  long.  Listen — we — 
are — going — to — bring — you — Out;  out  with  a  great  big 
capital  O!  See?" 

Gray  did  not  see,  but  he  tried  to  look  modest,  and — 
waited. 

"There's  no  reason  why  one  who  is  equal  to  Cyrano 
de  Bergerac  or  Richelieu  should  remain  in  obscurity  any 
longer.  Isn't  that  so,  you  fellows?" 

All  responded  enthusiastically  that  they  saw  no  earthly 
reason  why  the  present  state  of  affairs  should  continue. 
Had  Gray  been  less  obtuse  he  would  have  noticed  that 


206  SOME  HISTRIONIC  FUN. 

the  enthusiasm  was  slightly  over-demonstrative.  But  he 
was  caught  by  the  glamor  of  the  prospective  triumph,  and 
the  boys'  honeyed  words.  His  appreciation  of  himself 
was  growing  immensely  and  rapidly. 

"What  do  you  fellows  want  me  to  do,  or  rather  what 
do  you  think  I  can  do?"  he  asked. 

"I  think  you  can  do  anything  you  put  your  hand  to," 
answered  Smith,  the  joker.  "Knowing  your  dramatic 
ability,  and  being  sure  you  will  cover  yourself  with  in- 
eradicable and  inextinguishable  glory,  we  have  decided 
to  offer  you  the  leading  part  in  an  extravaganza  we  are 
thinking  of  getting  up  as  a  sort  of  surprise  to  the  pro- 
fessors and  prefects  as  well  as  the  boys,  on  Washington's 
birthday.'' 

"What  is  it  ?"  asked  Gray  eagerly. 

"First  you  must  be  bound  to  secrecy,  because  if  the 
prefects  learn  of  it  beforehand,  the  surprise  will  fall  flat, 
and  the  thing  will  not  be  worth  going  on  with.  See?" 

"Yes,  I  see.  I'll  promise  to  tell  nobody  except — that 
is,  I  won't  give  it  away.  What's  my  part  to  be?"  asked 
the  flattered  and  easily  duped  boy. 

He  was,  in  the  peculiar  college  phraseology,  "dead 
easy."  The  conspirators  were  surprised  at  the  ease  with 
which  they  drew  him  into  the  snare. 

"The  character  we  have  chosen  for  you  is  the  part  of 
Mad  Sir  Anthony.  It  is  very  difficult,  but  we  know  that 
you,  if  anybody,  can  manage  it.  It  may  be  taken  from  a 
play  of  Beaumont  or  Fletcher  or  some  other  old  English 
dramatist  for  aught  I  know.  The  story  is  this.  Sir 
Anthony  is  insane  and  doesn't  know  it.  His  friends  do. 
He  thinks  he  will  have  some  fun  with  his  servants  and 
his  guests  by  pretending  to  be  insane.  His  friends,  in 


SOME  HISTRIONIC  FUN.  207 

order  to  humor  him,  pretend  it  is  all  fine,  and  try  to  coax 
him  into  an  insane  asylum.  He  refuses  to  go,  and  they 
finally  capture  him  and  carry  him  off  in  triumph.  Fine 
plot,  isn't  it?" 

"Ye-es,"  said  John  Philip  Watkins  Gray,  rather  dubi- 
ously. 

"Of  course  you  will  have  most  of  the  lines.  The 
Dthers  are  merely  foils  for  you.  You'll  never  have  such 
a  chance  again  in  your  life." 

"As  the  other  characters  have  lines  of  no  importance, 
it  is  not  necessary  for  any  of  us  to  practice  yet  a  while, 
until  yours  are  learned  and  practiced  perfectly,"  said  Con- 
spirator No.  2. 

"Oh,  that's  not  fair,"  said  a  third  boy,  who  was  in  the 
plot  against  Gray,  in  order  to  keep  up  the  delusion. 

"Yes,  it  is,"  said  Smith.  "Didn't  we  all  promise  to 
help  train  the  principal  actor  before  we  began  our  own 
parts?" 

"Well,  but — "  said  the  second,  in  feigned  hesitation. 

"All  I've  got  to  say,  then,"  said  Smith,  in  apparent 
earnestness,  for  he  was  no  inconsiderable  actor  himself, 
"if  you  fellows  are  going  back  on  your  promises  I  throw 
up  the  whole  affair,  that's  all." 

Gray's  forthcoming  glory  began  to  fade,  and  his  visions 
of  histrionic  triumph  grew  dim. 

"Oh,  don't  do  that.  I  want  you  fellows  to  train  me," 
he  said. 

It  was  wonderful  what  straight  faces  the  boys  kept 
during  this  pretended  dispute,  and  at  Gray's  words.  They 
had  no  idea  in  the  beginning  that  their  plans  would  meet 
with  anything  like  such  success. 

"We  must  stick  to  our  original  intention,"  said  Smith, 


208  SOME  HISTRIONIC  FUN. 

"of  training  Gray  first  and  thoroughly  before  we  begin 
our  own  practice  with  him." 

They  finally  solemnly  agreed  to  do  as  their  chief 
speaker  suggested. 

"Very  well.  Now,  Hess,  give  Gray  his  first  speech. 
When  he  has  learned  and  practiced  that,  the  rest  of  his 
part  will  be  forthcoming." 

Hess  drew  from  his  pocket  a  paper  and  began  to 
read: 

SIR  ANTHONY — 

"Hush!  listen!  I  am  a  little  mouse, 
But  now  is  the  winter  of  our  discontent, 
Made  glorious  when  I  write  a  letter  to  papa. 
Lend  me  thine  ear.    See  to  it,  'tis  not  too  small. 
A  fellow  of  infinite  jest  and  merit. 
Hold!  I  command  you  both.    The  man  that  stirs 
Away  with  sighing  and  grieving,  I'll  no  more  on't, 
For  I  have  had  a  fearful  dream. 
The  blood-red  moon  smiles  down  on  Jessica 
While  Simon,  he  sits  in  his  high-backed  chair, 
Oh!  willow,  willow,  willow!     Alas!  and   alack! 
Little  Bo-Peep  lies  fast  asleep. 
No!  by  heaven!     I'm  not  mad, 
No,  no,  no,  no,  no,  no,  no,  no,  no. 

Ha!  ah!   Sir  Galahad,  I  drink  to  thee  only  with  mine  eyes. 
Oh!  sweet  Ophelia  shall  bring  cornflowers  for  the  tomb." 

The  boys  kept  solemn  faces  while  Hess  read  this  rub- 
bish. Gray  was  mystified.  His  eyes  traveled  occasionally 
from  face  to  face.  Knowing  that  they  were  under  scru- 
tiny, luckily  for  their  plan  no  one's  gravity  gave  way. 

"That's  Sir  Anthony's  first  speech,"  remarked  Smith. 
"Do  you  think  you  can  manage  it?" 

"I  don't  know,  I'm  sure,"  said  the  dupe.    "But—" 

"Oh,  those  abominable  'buts' !  But  me  no  buts.  Come 
on,  boys,  let's  steal  upstairs  to  the  stage  and  we  will  begin 
practicing  at  once." 

Gray  was  hurried  along  with  the  rest  up  the.  stairs  and 


SOME  HISTRIONIC  FVN.  209 

on  to  the  stage.  The  paper  was  thrust  into  his  hand.  He 
was  told  to  begin  at  once.  The  boys  skipped  about  the 
hall  in  a  very  lively  manner.  Just  at  that  moment 
motion  was  absolutely  necessary  for  the  practical  jokers 
if  they  did  not  want  to  betray  themselves. 

"Now  begin,"  ordered  Smith. 

Then  in  reality  began  more  fun  than  any  half  dozen 
boys  ever  dreamed  could  be  extracted  from  one  indi- 
vidual. Words,  sentences,  phrases  were  purposely  mis- 
interpreted. Tones,  poses,  gestures — even  those  suitable 
to  any  individual  sentence  or  line  of  the  nonsensical 
medley,  were  disregarded.  The  more  absurd  the  inter- 
pretation the  better.  Grotesque  contortions,  regardless 
of  all  sense  or  propriety,  made  the  lines  more  ridiculous, 
if  that  were  possible,  than  they  were  in  themselves. 

"Hush!  listen!  I  am  a  little  mouse,"  began  Gray,  in  a 
fairly  good  stage  whisper. 

"Oh,  that  won't  do  at  all — never  do,"  shouted  Hess 
from  the  floor  in  front  of  the  stage.  "Use  the  grand 
orotund  there.  Stand  up  as  if  you  were  going  to  fight  a 
gladiator  in  the  arena,  or  imagine  yourself  a  general  giv- 
ing orders  for  a  charge.  Like  this." 

"Hush!  listen!    I  am  a  little  mouse!" 

The  docile  Gray  followed  the  instructions  blindly. 

"Louder!"  shouted  Smith,  "louder!"  Gray  raised  his 
voice  until  at  length  he  fairly  screamed.  The  conspira- 
tors screamed,  also,  with  delight,  which  Gray  took  for 
approbation.  . 

"Made  glorious  when  I  write  a  letter  to  papa." 

"No,  no,  that  won't  do,"  said  Smith.  "Here,  like  this: 
'Made  ge-lor-:ous,'  sorrow  and  shame  there;  'when  I 
write'  should  be  given  soft  and  low,  soft  as  the  whisper- 


210  8OME  HISTRIONIC  FUN. 

• 

ing  pines,  you  know,  and  all  that;  then  a  'letter  to  papa' 
must  be  a  grand  burst  of  oratorical  confidence  (whatever 
that  may  mean),  followed  by  a  stride  of  three  steps  cor- 
nerwise  across  the  stage,  and  to  be  finished  by  a  long 
'ah!'  in  the  heaviest  tragedy  style.  Man  alive!  no  sane 
madman  would  ever  give  that  as  you  are  giving  it." 

To  the  surprise  of  the  boys,  Gray  followed  the  instruc- 
tions, notwithstanding  their  evident  contradiction.  He 
seemed  to  regard  the  whole  affair  as  a  very  serious  piece 
of  business,  taking  every  remark  quite  earnestly.  Every 
moment  the  boys  expected  that  he  would  see  through 
their  joke  and  turn  the  tables  on  them  in  some  way.  As 
their  victim  was  a  very  much  larger  boy  than  any  one  of 
them,  they  were  all  prepared  for  instant  flight.  But  no 
enlightenment  came  to  relieve  the  obtuseness  of  Gray's 
intellect.  There  were  perpetrated  for  the  space  of  half 
an  hour  the  most  absurd  atrocities  against  the  rules  of 
breathing,  of  posing,  of  gesture,  and  of  speaking,  that  per- 
haps ever  fell  to  the  lot  of  a  company  of  mischievous 
boys  to  witness.  The  laughter  of  the  boys  made  their 
sides  ache,  but  Gray  seemed  to  take  it  all  as  a  compli- 
ment to  his  powers.  When  the  boys  could  stand  no  more, 
another  practice  was  arranged  for  three  days  hence,  with 
a  promise  to  take  then  the  measurements  for  the  con- 
struction of  the  madman's  costume,  which,  Gray  was  as- 
sured, was  to  be  unique  in  design  and  material. 

In  less  than  half  an  hour  after  the  first  successful  ruse, 
at  least  twenty  boys  were  mysteriously  informed  that 
Gray  would  soort  blossom  out  as  a  star  tragedian  who 
would  surprise  everybody.  When  approached  to  confirm 
the  rumor,  his  promise  of  secrecy  was  sorely  tested. 

"Oh,  nonsense!"  said  Mr.  Shalford,  when  informed  of 


SOME  HISTRIONIC  FUN.  211 

the  floating  rumor  that  Gray  was  to  appear  on  February 
22,  Mr.  Shalford  knew  all  the  boys  who  were  to  take  part 
in  the  entertainment  of  that  evening.  The  prefect  took  no 
notice  of  the  first  intimation  he  received,  but  when  it 
came  a  third,  fourth,  and  fifth  time  to  his  ears,  in  that 
mysterious  way  in  which  yard  affairs  always  come  to  pre- 
fects, he  began  to  think  that  perhaps  some  of  the  boys 
were  again  attempting  another  practical  joke  on  Gray. 
He  determined  to  be  on  the  alert,  and,  if  such  were  the 
case,  to  save  the  boy  from  another  mortification. 

"I  did  not  see  you  in  the  yard  this  afternoon,"  he  said 
to  Gray  one  evening,  two  days  after  the  commencement 
of  the  practice.  "Were  you  sick?" 

"No,  sir,  I  was  busy,"  was  the  evasive  reply. 

"At  what?" 

"Learning  some  poetry." 

"Penances?  Or  have  you  suddenly  turned  studious? 
Look  out,  my  boy,  and  don't  let  the  boys  fool  you  again." 

Now  Gray  was  determined  to  keep  the  secret  and  not 
destroy  the  surprise,  so  he  said: 

"They  can't  fool  me,  sir." 

Which  statement,  in  the  light  of  previous  experience, 
Mr.  Shalford  did  not  think  possessed  an  extraordinary 
amount  of  credibility. 

"Well,  if  anything  happens,  don't  say  I  did  not  warn 
you." 

Now  Gray  thought  that  the  prefect  was  bent  on  worm- 
ing the  secret  of  the  forthcoming  surprise  out  of  him,  so 
he  determined  to  give  him  no  information.  He  remained 
silent. 

About  a  week  later,  Mr.  Shalford  missed  several  boys 
from  the  yard.  Amid  the  thousand  and  one  things  of  his 


212  SOME  HISTRIONIC  FUN. 

office  which  necessarily  occupied  his  attention,  the  ques- 
tion of  Gray  again  getting  into  trouble  had  entirely 
slipped  from  his  mind.  It  suddenly  occurred  to  him, 
considering  the  absence  of  several  very  tricky  youngsters 
— and  Gray — that  perhaps  after  all  there  was  foundation 
m  fact  for  the  intangible  rumor  that  Gray  was  being 
woefully  duped. 

Taking  a  hasty  stroll  around  the  yard,  looking  into  the 
gymnasium,  the  reading-rooms,  play-rooms  and  every- 
where where  boys  up  to  mischief  were  likely  to  congre- 
gate on  a  winter  recreation  day,  he  finally  decided  to  go 
up  to  the  hall.  In  going  about  he  usually  jingled  some 
keys,  consciously  or  unconsciously  giving  warning  of  his 
approach.  He  may  have  adopted  this  custom  purposely, 
to  avoid  inflicting  penances.  All  the  boys  admitted  that 
his  prefecting  had  no  semblance  of  detective  work  in  it, 
and  the  result  was  that,  in  the  majority  of  cases,  there 
were  perfectly  honorable  dealings  among  the  boys. 

In  going  up  to  the  theater  he  did  not  rattle  his  keys  as 
usual,  owing  to  a  pre-occupation  of  mind.  The  door  of 
the  hall  was  open,  but  there  was  a  screen  in  front  of  it, 
placed  there  to  prevent  a  draft  from  the  stairway.  He 
thus  obtained  a  view  of  the  stage  without  being  seen  by 
any  one  in  the  hall.  He  heard  some  strange  sounds.  In 
all  the  notes  of  the  gamut  he  heard  the  words : 

"No,  no,  no,  no,  no,  no,  no,  no,  no,"  and  then,  leaning 
on  a  spear,  with  his  left  leg  crossed  over  the  right  and 
resting  on  the  toes,  with  his  right  thumb  touching  his 
ear  and  the  fingers  pointed  forward  and  rapidly  moving 
and  with  eyes  cast  sideways,  Gray  gave  the  next  line  in 
a  soft,  lackadaisical  voice : 

"Sir  Galahad,  drink  to  me  only  with  mine  eyes." 


SOME  HISTRIONIC  FUN.  213 

There  was  Gray  in  the  "constructed"  costume.  For 
tunic  he  wore  an  old  grain  sack,  not  over-clean,  through 
two  holes  in  which  he  had  thrust  his  legs.  It  was  tied 
on  him  up  around  his  arms.  Around  his  neck  was  a  stiff 
Elizabethan  ruff  of  brown  paper,  which  must  have  been 
a  torture  for  the  poor  boy.  The  sack  was  ornamented 
with  a  short  skirt  of  green  cheesecloth,  from  which 
material  were  made  a  pair  of  sleeves  with  enormously 
puffed  shoulders.  Across  his  back  he  wore,  shield- 
fashion,  the  tin  lid  of  a  wash-boiler.  The  spear  on  which 
he  leaned  was  ornamented  near  the  head  with  a  small 
American  flag. 

It  would  be  difficult,  perhaps  impossible,  to  conceive  a 
more  grotesquely-costumed  figure,  and  still  harder  to 
imagine  how  a  big  boy  could  have  taken  the  matter  all 
along  in  sober  earnest,  apparently  quite  unsuspicious  of 
the  huge  joke  being  played  upon  him. 

Mr.  Shalford  walked  out  into  the  middle  of  the  floor. 

"What's  all  this?" 

At  the  first  glimpse  of  him  Gray  vanished.  There  was 
so  complete  a  silence  that  Smith  afterward  declared  that 
you  could  have  cut  it  with  a  knife. 

"Oh,  sir,  we  were  only  hav — "  began  one. 

"Get  downstairs,  all  of  you." 

"But,  sir,  we  only  meant — " 

"Get  downstairs." 

By  this  time  Gray  had  appeared,  properly  clothed,  if 
not  in  his  right  mind.  The  conspirators  and  their  victim 
made  an  extremely  rapid  descent,  fully  convinced  that 
they  were  "in  for  It"  now  in  earnest. 

It  was  fortunate  for  the  dignity  of  the  prefect,  and  for 
discipline's  sake  that  the  boys  retired  so  hurriedly,  for  the 


214  SOME  HISTRIONIC  FVN. 

next  moment  Mr.  Shalford,  who  always  had  a  keen  eye 
for  the  humorous  and  the  ludicrous,  and  who,  perhaps  in 
remembrance  of  his  own  college  days,  had  a  secret  sym- 
pathy for  these  scapegrace  jokers,  collapsed.  He  sat 
down  on  the  nearest  seat  and  for  a  few  moments  gave  way 
to  a  fit  of  unrestrained,  because  uncontrollable,  laughter. 

"You  goose,"  he  said  to  Gray  a  little  later  in  the  yard. 
"Didn't  I  tell  you  those  boys  were  up  to  something?" 

Gray  looked  preternaturally  wise,  and  in  no  degree  pen- 
itant.  His  mind  was  still  full  of  the  play.  He  was  per- 
fectly unconscious  of  having  been  fooled. 

Six  days  later,  when  all  had  finished  reciting  their  pen- 
ances, Gray  remarked: 

"Say,  fellows,  wasn't  it  a  pity  old  Shalford  caught  us? 
I  wonder  whether  we  couldn't  win  him  over  to  let  us  go 
on  and  give  the  boys  a  surprise  on  Washington's  birth- 
day." 

Smith  and  Hess  are  now  married  men,  both  conducting 
large  businesses.  Gray,  mirabile  dictu!  has  recently  been 
elected  State  representative  of  his  district.  The  three 
met  recently,  and  the  two  both  solemnly  aver  that  Gray 
is,  to  this  day,  totally  unaware  that  he  was  a  victim  of  a 
practical  joke.  They  call  him  Sir  Anthony,  which  title  he 
rather  enjoys.  Only  yesterday  he  expressed  his  regret 
that  the  prefect  had  interrupted  their  practice. 

"We  would  have  given  the  boys  a  surprise,  sure.' 

Smith  and  Hess  agreed  with  him. 


RETROSPECTIVE.  215 

CHAPTER  XXIV. 

RETROSPECTIVE. 

THE  end  had  come.  The  year  had  passed  all  too 
quickly.  It  wanted  but  one  day  to  those  graduating  exer- 
cises which  would  make  our  young  friends  of  the  Phil- 
osophy class  the  proud  possessors  of  pieces  of  beribboned 
parchment  which  would  give  them  a  legal  title  to  the  cov- 
eted "Bachelor  of  Arts."  Every  member  of  the  class  had 
been  successful  in  the  examinations,  although  of  course 
some  had  shone  more  brilliantly  than  others.  Of  this 
class  was  our  friend  Claude  Winters,  to  his  ecstatic  de- 
light, which  found  expression,  the  others  declared,  in  the 
most  "insane  antics"  and  "conduct  quite  unbecoming  a 
Philosopher." 

In  the  gladness  of  his  success  it  was  no  use  to  chide 
him.  Claude  had  declared  that  for  a  time  he  had  to  "cut 
up"  or  something  somewhere  would  give  way,  or  the 
universe  slip  a  cog. 

Now  evening  had  come,  and  there  was  a  lull  in 
mutual  congratulations,  sport,  and  fun.  It  was  the  last 
evening  at  school.  All  were  awaiting  the  end,  which 
would  come  on  the  morrow. 

Howard  Hunter,  Frank  Stapleton,  Selby,  and,  of  course, 
Claude,  had  strolled  out  of  the  grounds  to  an  elevated 
ideal  spot  not  far  from  the  river,  where  there  could  be 
obtained  a  panoramic  view  of  the  college.  This  academic 
grove  was  a  favorite  resort  of  the  Philosophers,  far 
enough  away  from  the  noise  and  shouts  of  the  yard,  close 
enough  to  be  within  sound  of  the  warning  bell.  Some 


sjie  RETROSPECTIVE. 

rustic  benches  had  been  placed  under  the  trees,  in  a  spot 
where  an  unobstructed  view  could  be  obtained. 

In  this  little  leafy  bower  sat  our  friends,  now  silent  and 
introspective,  although  not  morose,  nor  uninfluenced  by 
the  beauty  of  the  summer  evening. 

The  not  unmusical  tinkle  of  a  cowbell  sounded  softly 
away  in  the  woods  behind  the  farm-buildings  of  the  col- 
lege. Not  far  away,  two  farmhands  waited  at  the  gate 
with  their  milk  pails  at  their  feet,  to  turn  the  slow  return- 
ing cows  into  the  home  paddock  for  the  milking.  There 
was  a  drowsy  hum  of  insects  in  the  air,  and  the  "beetle 
wheeled  his  droning  flight"  amid  the  wild  honeysuckle 
bushes  as  the  sun  slowly  sank  below  the  horizon.  All 
labor  sounds  had  ceased.  There  was  that  restful  calm 
which  makes  country  life — at  least  for  a  few  months  in 
the  summer  time — so  restful  and  Arcadian  to  the  nervous 
and  office-tired  city  man. 

The  boys  silently  watched  the  large-eyed,  sleepy  cows, 
one  by  one,  file  slowly  into  the  paddock  and  stand  with 
almost  pathetic  patience  to  be  relieved  of  their  abundant 
supply  of  milk.  They  saw  the  men  take  their  one-legged 
milking  stools  from  the  fence.  Soon  they  heard  on  the 
quiet  evening  air  the  intermittent  rattling  sounds,  as  the 
rich  streams  of  milk  bombarded  the  sonorous  sides  of  the 
large  tin  milking  pails. 

The  unusually  long  silence  was  at  length  broken  by 
Stapleton.  In  a  low,  almost  sad,  tone  he  remarked: 

"I  believe,  after  all,  that  those  simple  farmhands  are 
better  off  than  we  are." 

"What  makes  you  think  that  ?"  asked  Selby,  in  the  same 
subdued  way. 

"I  hardly  know  whether  I  can  give  an  intelligent  reason. 


RETROSPECTIVE.  217 

They  have  no  responsibilities.  They  do  their  daily  work, 
eat  their  three  meals  a  day,  sleep  well  at  night,  and  on  the 
morning  the  same  thing  is  repeated — no  care,  no  anxiety, 
no  worry — " 

"No  examinations,"  put  in  Claude.  Frank  took  no 
notice  of  the  interruption. 

" — No  worry.  The  irresponsibility  of  their  position 
makes  me  envy  them." 

"Umph !  You're  in  the  dumps,  that's  sure.  And  they 
probably  envy  us  just  as  much  as  we,  or  at  least  you, 
envy  them,"  replied  Selby. 

"That  may  be.  But  it  seems  to  me  theirs  is  the  hap- 
pier lot." 

"What  a — what  a  strange  idea!"  said  Selby.  "Would 
you  change  places?" 

"Well,  I  hardly  think  I  would  do  that,"  answered 
Frank,  "yet  I  do  envy  them  their  freedom  from  responsi- 
bility, while  I  feel  ours,  mine,  I  mean,  to  be  great." 

"Indeed!    In  what  way?"  asked  the  other. 

"In  this.  We,  I  mean  I — for  I  don't  know  how  the 
rest  of  you  feel  about  it — I  feel  a  grave  responsibility 
resting  on  me.  I  look  at  it  in  this  way.  I  have  had  all 
the  advantages  of  education  a  first-class  Catholic  college 
gives.  When  I  go  out  into  the  world,  after  to-morrow's 
graduating,  I  shall  have  not  only  the  reputation  of  my 
alma  mater  to  sustain,  but  I  feel  that  I  am  responsible  to 
Almighty  God, -for  the  good  use  to  which  I  shall  here- 
after put  my  training  and  what  education  I  have.  One's 
responsibilities  increase  in  proportion  to  the  advantages 
he  has  received." 

"Quite  true,"  said  Hunter.  "One  having  a  knowledge 
of  philosophic  principles  and  Catholic  ethics  must,  by  the 


218  RETROSPECTIVE. 

very  nature  of  the  case,  be  superior  to,  and  exert  a 
superior  influence  over  those  who  are  drifting  along 
almost  aimlessly  through  life." 

"We  have  passed  our  examinations  and  shall  be  grad- 
uated to-morrow,"  remarked  Winters,  "and  yet  how  little 
one  seems  to  know,  after  all." 

"Seems?"  said  Stapleton.    "How  much  do  we  know?" 

"Much  more  than  you  imagine  at  present,  my  dear 
boys,"  said  Mr.  Shalford,  who  had  come  upon  the  group 
unawares  and  had  heard  the  remarks  of  the  last  two 
speakers.  After  having  been  warmly  welcomed,  he  took 
a  seat  among  them  and  continued: 

"Wait,  Claude,  until  the  occasions  arise  when  you  will 
have  to  make  decisions  for  yourself — then  you  will  see 
the  value  and  the  benefit  of  Catholic  ethical  training.  No 
knowledge,  once  acquired,  is  really  lost.  Only  yesterday 
I  was  reading  'Thomas  and  Matthew  Arnold'  by  Sir 
Joshua  Fitch,  and  on  one  of  the  pages,  I  do  not  remem- 
ber which  just  at  present,  I  read  something  like  this: 

"  'If  we  forget  even  our  arithmetic  and  geography  and 
grammar,  so  is  a  great  part  of  the  knowledge  received 
by  learners  in  all  ages,  and  in  reference  to  all  subjects. 
But  this  does  not  prove  the  acquisition  barren  and  use- 
less. It  may  not  survive  in  the  exact  form  it  has  been 
imparted.  But  it  has  for  a  time  served  its  purpose.  It 
has  helped  to  put  the  mind  in  a  better  position  to  acquire 
further  knowledge,  and  has  left  behind  it  a  residuum  of 
thought  and  experience  that  will  make  it  easy  to  revert 
to  the  subject  and  learn  it  anew,  if  occasion  should  arise. 
In  fact  nothing  which  is  honestly  learned,  and  which 
forms  a  legitimate  part  of  a  scheme  of  instruction  having 
an  organic  union  and  a  clear  purpose  of  its  own,  can  ever 


RETROSPECTIVE.  219 

be  rightly  regarded  as  worthless;  and  no  time  spent  in 
acquiring  such  details  is  ever  wasted,  even  though  they 
may  have  disappeared  from  the  memory  and  left  no 
visible  result. 

"  'It  does  not  follow/  says  Thomas  Arnold,  'that  when 
a  man  lays  aside  his  Latin  and  Greek  books,  he  forgets 
all  that  he  has  ever  gained  from  them.  This,  however, 
is  so  far  from  being  the  case  that  even  where  results  of 
a  classical  education  are  least  tangible  and  least  appreci- 
ated, even  by  the  individual  himself,  still  the  mind  often 
retains  much  of  the  effects  of  its  early  studies  in  the 
general  liberality  of  its  tastes  and  comparative  compre- 
hensiveness of  its  views  and  actions/ 

"So  don't  be  discouraged,  boys,"  Mr.  Shalford  con- 
tinued when  he  had  finished  quoting.  "What  is  here  said 
of  the  classics  can  be  applied  more  accurately  to  phil- 
osophy, especially  in  the  formation  of  correct  judgment. 
You  have  had  instilled  into  you  these  sound  and  correct 
principles.  These  are  capable  of  guiding  you  through 
life.  I  grant  that  you  have  greater  responsibilities  than 
those  less  favored,  but  you  know  better  how  to  act  and 
what  to  do  than  others.  Isn't  that  so,  boys?" 

All  gave  a  ready  assent. 

"Very  well.  That's  enough  on  that  subject.  Now  let 
me  say  a  few  words  that  I  would  like  to  have  said  to  all 
the  members  of  your  class.  I  was  too  busy  lately  to  get 
you  all  together,  so  what  I  say  now  to  you  four  I  say  to 
all  through  you.  I  thank  you  in  my  own  name  and  in 
the  name  of  the  college  for  your  good  influence.  I  told 
you  in  the  beginning  of  the  year  that  you  ten  boys  would 
make  the  tone  of  the  college.  You  have  done  so,  and 
you  have  done  it  well.  I  thank  you  all.  Your  honorable 


220  RETROSPECTIVE. 

combination,  as  you  call  it,  for  the  autumn  field-day,  did 
wonders  in  this  direction — much  more  than  you  lads  are 
in  a  position  to  know.  Your  influence  was  good,  and  it 
will  remain.  Once  more,  I  thank  you." 

Mr.  Shalford's  earnestness  and  warmth  of  manner  and 
words  of  sincere  praise  deeply  affected  these  earnest, 
right-intentioned  boys.  In  after  years  it  was  a  happy 
memory,  making  a  binding  link  of  friendship  and  esteem 
between  them  and  their  prefect  which  was  never  broken. 
Kind-hearted  Shalford  knew  how  to  say  the  right  thing 
at  the  right  moment. 

"Do  you  consider  the  tone  of  the  college  up  to  the 
standard,  Mr.  Shalford?"  asked  Howard  Hunter,  who 
had,  in  this  matter,  a  little  of  the  pessimism  of  youth, 
owing  perhaps  to  his  lofty  ideals. 

The  official  did  not  answer  immediately.  He  appeared 
to  be  thinking  deeply.  Presently,  without  directly  re- 
sponding, he  said: 

"Somewhere  in  Fitch's  book,  ah!  here  it  is,"  and  he 
turned  to  the  page,  "I  will  read  this  and  then  ask  you 
whether  you  think  such  a  state  of  affairs  exists  at  St. 
Cuthbert's: 

'  'That  is  properly  a  nursery  of  vice  where  a  boy  un- 
learns the  pure  and  honest  principles  which  he  may  have 
received  at  home,  and  gets  in  their  stead  others  which 
are  utterly  low  and  base  and  mischievous ;  where  he  loses 
his  modesty,  his  respect  for  truth,  and  his  affectionate- 
ness,  and  becomes  coarse  and  unfeeling.  That,  too,  is  a 
nursery  of  vice,  and  most  fearfully  so,  where  vice  is  bold 
and  forward  and  presuming,  and  goodness  is  timid  and 
shy  and  exists  as  if  by  sufferance;  where  the  good, 
instead  of  setting  the  tone  of  society  and  branding  with 


RETROSPECTIVE.  221 

disgrace  those  who  disregard  it,  are  themselves  exposed 
to  reproach  for  their  goodness,  and  shrink  before  the 
open  avowal  of  evil  principles  which  the  bad  are  striving 
to  make  the  law  of  the  community.' 

"Do  you  think,  Howard,"  continued  Mr.  Shalford,  "do 
you  think  such  a  state  of  affairs  exists  at  St.  Cuthbert's?" 

"No,  sir;  no,  sir,"  said  all  his  listeners. 

"No,  indeed,  thanks  be  to  God !  Our  boys  have  their 
faults.  We  are  not  perfect,  but  goodness,  right  and  cor- 
rect principles  are  in  honor  among  us.  That  this  is  so 
this  year  is  largely  owing  to  you  boys,  and  once  more  I 
thank  you  all." 

"I  don't  think  the  Philosophy  class  deserves  much 
praise,  sir,"  said  Winters.  "It's  the  boys,  the  whole 
crowd  themselves,  that  are  good  fellows.  Didn't  you  see, 
sir,  nearly  the  whole  school  go  to  Holy  Communion  this 
morning,  the  last  day  of  the  school  year?  It  wasn't  a 
regular  Communion  day  either. 

"I  saw  it,  Claude,  and  was  very  glad  to  see  it.  Then 
you  don't  agree  with  Arnold  of  Rugby  when  he  wrote  to 
a  friend :  'Give  me  credit  for  a  most  sincere  desire  to 
make  Rugby  a  place  of  Christian  education.  At  the  same 
time  my  object  will  be,  if  possible,  to  form  Christian  men, 
for  Christian  boys  I  scarcely  hope  to  make.  I  mean 
that  from  the  naturally  imperfect  state  of  boyhood  they 
are  not  susceptible  of  Christian  principles  in  their  full 
development  and  practice;  and  I  suppose  a  low  standard 
of  morals  in  many  respects  must  be  tolerated  among 
them,  as  it  was  on  a  large  scale  in  what  I  consider  the 
boyhood  of  the  human  race.' " 

"Did  Arnold  of  Rugby  say  that?"  exclaimed  Claude. 
His  wide-open  eyes  and  parted  lips  showed  his  surprise. 


222  RETROSPECTIVE. 

"Yes.     You  do  not  agree  with  him?" 

"No,  sir !"  The  emphasis  with  which  these  two  words 
were  given  would  have  been  amusing  had  not  Winters 
been  so  earnest. 

"Why?" 

"Why!  If  that  were  true,  where  would  St.  Aloysius 
and  St.  Stanislaus  be  ?  Where  would  all  the  good  boys  in 
our  sodalities  be?  And  our  weekly  Communicants? 
Where  would  be  nearly  all  the  boys  of  St.  Cuthbert's  of 
to-day  ?" 

"And  where  would  Claude  Winters  be?"  was  the  un- 
spoken thought  of  more  than  one  of  the  group  at  the 
moment,  for  Claude,  in  sounding  the  praises  of  his  com- 
panions, was  unconsciously  describing  himself.  Mr.  Shal- 
ford  delighted  in  drawing  out  Winters,  who  had  a  breez- 
iness  in  stating  his  opinions  which  was  refreshing.  The 
prefect  continued: 

"Then  you  don't  believe  the  affectation  of  being  worse 
than  one  really  is,  exists  to  any  degree  here?" 

"Certainly  I  do  not." 

"Nor  the  idea  that  a  falsehood  if  told  to  a  fellow  is 
worse  than  if  told  to  a  professor  or  prefect?" 

"Not  by  a — not  at  all."  Claude  nearly  lapsed  into  a 
slang  expression  in  his  earnestness. 

"One  more  question,  Claude.  You  have  read  'Tom 
Brown's  School  Days'?" 

"Often.  I've  got  it  here  now,"  and  he  took  it  from 
the  seat  where  he  had  placed  it  a  few  minutes  before. 

Mr.  Shalford  took  it  and  opened  it  and  read  with  diffi- 
culty in  the  gathering  dusk  the  passage  where  Mr. 
Hughes  puts  into  the  mouth  of  Harry  East  the  schoolboy 
code  of  honor  of  those  days  with  regard  to  cribs. 


RETROSPECTIVE.  223 

"  'It  is  a  fair  trial  of  skill  between  us  and  the  masters, 
like  a  match  of  football  or  a  battle.  We're  natural  ene- 
mies in  school,  that's  a  fact.  We've  got  to  learn  so 
much  Latin  and  Greek  and  do  so  many  verses,  and 
they've  got  to  see  that  we  do  it.  If  you  can  slip  the 
collar  and  do  so  much  less  without  getting  caught,  that's 
one  to  us.  If  they  can  get  more  out  of  you,  or  catch  us 
shirking,  that's  one  to  them.  All's  fair  in  war  but  lying. 
If  I  run  my  luck  against  theirs  and  go  into  school  with- 
out looking  at  my  lessons,  why  am  I  a  snob  or  a  sneak? 
I  don't  tell  the  master  I  have  learned  it;  he's  got  to  find 
out  whether  I  have  or  not.  What's  he  paid  for?  If  he 
calls  me  up  and  I  get  floored,  he  makes  me  write  it  out 
in  Greek  and  English — very  good.  He's  caught  me  and 
I  don't  grumble.  I  grant  you  if  I  go  and  snivel  to  him 
and  tell  him  I've  really  tried  to  learn  it  but  found  it  too 
hard  without  a  translation,  or  say  I've  had  a  headache  or 
any  humbug  of  that  kind,  I'm  a  snob — that's  my  school 
morality.  It's  served  me  for  these  five  years,  and  it's  all 
clear  and  fair;  no  mistake  about  it,  and  I  do  not  know 
what  we  are  to  come  to  with  any  other.' 

"What  do  you  think  of  that  for  schoolboy  ethics, 
Claude?"  asked  Mr.  Shalford  when  he  had  finished  the 
page. 

"I  know  this,  Mr.  Shalford ;  it  isn't  St.  Cuthbert  ethics. 
It  is  not  Catholic,  and  I  don't  believe  it  is  honest.  I  don't 
think  it  a  bit  more  honest  to  steal  a  translation  and  palm 
it  off  in  class  as  one's  own  than  the  action  of  that  fellow 
— oh,  what's  his  name?  I've  forgotten — who  last  May 
gave  a  poem  for  the  St.  Cuthbert's  college  journal  as 
original  when  it  was  afterward  found  to  have  been  taken 
body  and  bones  from  one  of  Eliza  Cook's.  To  my 


224  RETROSPECTIVE. 

notion,  Harry  East  ought  to  have  been  expelled,  just 
as  much  as  that  fellow  was  who  disgraced  us  and  our 
paper.  That's  my  theory  of  it." 

"And  perhaps  you  are  nearly  correct.  There,  the 
lights  are  beginning  to  twinkle  down  below!  I  must  be 
going.  Good-by,  boys.  Take  a  last  good  look  at  the  old 
college  by  moonlight.  Good-by.  God  bless  you.  Keep 
cool  for  to-morrow's  speeches.  Good-by." 

As  his  figure  became  indistinct  down  the  path  in  the 
gloaming,  the  four  boys  again  lapsed  into  silence,  each 
busy  with  his  own  thoughts.  As  the  darkness  fell,  more 
lights  began  to  appear,  making  the  unlit  portions  of  the 
building  blacker  by  contrast.  In  the  eastern  sky  were 
some  heavy  clouds,  which  the  nearly  full  moon  silvered 
and  made  resemble  huge  banks  of  snow.  To  the  west, 
low  down  on  the  horizon,  was  a  broad  band  of  saffron, 
which  paled  away  upward  into  the  deep  liquid  blue  of  the 
summer  night.  In  bold  relief  against  the  western  sky 
stood  the  cross-crowned  spire  of  the  students'  chapel.  In 
the  moon's  alchemy  the  gilded  cross  resembled  bur- 
nished silver.  It  was  the  most  conspicuous  object  of  the 
softened  evening  scene.  It  was  more  beautiful,  thought 
the  boys,  than  roof,  or  gable,  or  flash  tower,  for  it  had  a 
symbolic  meaning  for  them.  It  typified  to  them  their 
faith,  the  foundation  of  all  their  education,  and  the  motive 
of  all  their  actions.  The  stillness  of  the  night,  the  occa- 
sion of  their  meeting,  and  the  beauty  of  the  scene  softly 
lit  up  by  the  moonlight,  made  a  deep  impression.  They 
had  made  a  kind  of  sentimental  journey  up  the  hill  to 
take  a  last  look  by  moonlight  of  the  college  they  loved 
so  much.  They  were  amply  rewarded.  The  scene  was 
fixed  indelibly  in  their  memory. 


RETROSPECTIVE.  225 

"Dear  old  St.  Cuthbert's,  how  I  love  you!"  said  Claude 
Winters,  breaking  the  silence  with  words  that  came  from 
the  heart,  and  voicing  the  emotion  of  each. 

"So  do  we  all,"  remarked  Hunter. 

"Amen  say  I  to  that,"  said  Stapleton,  quite  solemnly. 
"On  one  thing  I  am  determined.  I  shall  so  strive  to  live 
that  I  may  never  be  anything  but  an  honor  and  a  pride 
to  my  alma  mater." 

"I'm  sure  that's  the  intention  of  all  of  us,"  said  Howard 
Hunter.  "In  fact  we  would  be  ingrates  were  we  not  all 
actuated  by  such  motives  at  such  a  time  as  this." 

"I  propose,"  said  Claude  Winters,  who  could  never 
keep  in  a  serious  or  sentimental  mood  very  long,  "I  pro- 
pose that  as  by  this  time  to-morrow  we  shall  all  be  scat- 
tered to  the  four  winds  of  heaven — or  at  least  to  the  four 
points  of  the  compass,  that  we  make  a  resolution  to  meet 
here  on  this  very  spot  this  time  ten  years  hence  and 
relate  our  intervening  experiences.  What  d'ye  say,  boys  ?" 
They  all  agreed  unanimously.  Then  Claude  continued: 

"Very  well ;  let  us  all  join  hands  and  promise  each 
other  that  if  living  and  if  it  be  physically  possible  we  all 
meet  here  ten  years  hence." 

Four  hands  were  joined  in  a  quadruple  handshake, 
and  with  this  outward  manifestation  of  their  agreement, 
they  all  made  the  promise. 


226  LEAVE-TAKING. 


CHAPTER  XXV. 

LEAVE-TAKING. 

CLAUDE  WINTERS  had  been  seven  years  at  St.  Cuth- 
bert's.  At  last  the  time  had  come  for  him  when  he  must 
sever  connections  with  the  college.  Never  in  his  life  had 
the  warm-hearted  boy  been  so  tossed  by  contending  emo- 
tions. There  was  joy  at  being  free,  joy  at  the  thought 
of  seeing  home  and  mother  and  Laura  and  all  the  rest; 
joy  at  the  thought  of  beginning  his  battle  with  the  world. 
Ah,  Claude,  will  you  be  so  joyful  ten  years  from  now? 
Will  you  at  your  proposed  reunion — if  that  ever  takes 
place — have  such  roseate  hues  of  life  as  now?  You  have 
much  to  learn  yet  of  the  ways  of  the  world.  God  grant 
that  the  next  ten  years  may  be  as  happy  as  those  you  have 
passed,  and  as  decade  after  decade  of  your  life  shall  pass, 
may  they  bring  you  no  grief,  nor  sorrow,  nor  remorse. 

During  his  course  Claude  had  absorbed  a  large  amount 
of  knowledge  and  acquired  some  wisdom.  He  knew  he 
was  now  competent  to  take  up  the  study  of  any  profession 
he  might  choose,  with  the  brightest  prospects  of  being 
successful  therein. 

During  this  process  of  absorption  the  personal  all-con- 
quering example  of  devoted  men  had  largely  influenced 
the  boy.  He  had  become  deeply  attached  to  his  alma 
mater.  He  loved  every  spot  in  and  around  it.  The  class 
rooms,  the  yard,  the  ball-field,  the  wheel-track,  the  walks, 
the  river,  the  very  stones  of  the  buildings  were  objects 
of  affection  to  him.  And  his  was  the  love,  loyal  and  true, 
of  a  sincere  character. 


LEAVE-TAKING.  227 

To  think  that  the  last  day  of  his  happy  college  life, 
with  all  its  joys  and  fascinations  and  its  thousand  and  one 
pleasures,  would  in  a  few  hours  be  to  him  a  thing  of  the 
past,  touched  him  deeply.  He  could  scarcely  realize  it. 
He  did  not  wish  to  realize  it.  It  was  the  one  dark  spot 
in  the  happy  ending  of  a  sunny  career.  More  than  once 
that  last  morning  Claude  felt  a  large  lump  rise  in  his 
throat.  More  than  once  unbidden  tears  dimmed  his  eyes. 
For  him  after  to-day  the  delights  of  the  ball-field,  or  the 
bicycle  race  were  no  more !  For  him  no  more  the 
delights  of  sweet  companionship.  Oh,  the  pity  of  it, 
thought  Claude.  Why  could  we  not  be  always  boys. 
Why,  indeed!  What  choicer  gift  can  there  be  than  the 
companionship  of  noble  boys  who  are  loyal  and  true? 

Before  the  hour  arrived  for  the  graduating  exercises 
our  young  friend  took  a  last  journey  through  the  build- 
ings. He  went  .from  class-room  to  class-room,  and  as  he 
went  through  each  room  he  felt  that  he  was  leaving  old 
friends  indeed.  His  run  into  the  infirmary  reminded  him 
of  Howard  Hunter's  long  illness,  arising  from  the  haunted 
mill  episode,  and  all  the  events  that  followed  therefrom. 
Winters  intended  these  as  farewell  visits.  He  knew  it 
would  be  the  last  time  he  could  come  to  these  places, 
because  after  the  exercises  there  was  to  be  a  hurried 
lunch,  and  then  the  hardest  part  of  all  for  the  warm- 
hearted boy — the  final  parting  with  the  President,  pro- 
fessors, prefects,  and  his  schoolboy  friends. 

The  last  spot  Winters  visited  on  his  sentimental  journey 
was  the  woodland  shrine  of  Our  Lady,  Seat  of  Wisdom. 
Often  had  he  made  little  pilgrimages  to  this  beautiful  and 
secluded  spot,  to  seek  at  Our  Lady's  feet  that  help  and 
consolation  we  all  so  sorely  need  at  times. 


228  LEAVE-TAKING. 

Claude,  according  to  his  ordinary  style  of  locomotion, 
came  tearing  up  the  hill  at  a  rapid  rate.  The  path  led 
up  to  the  side  of  the  shrine,  and  when  he  had  reached 
the  little  plateau  where  it  stood,  he  had  to  make  a  sudden 
turn  to  the  right  to  be  in  front  of  it.  About  to  enter,  he 
checked  himself  suddenly,  for  he  saw  some  one  kneeling 
in  front  of  the  statue.  He  whom  Claude  saw  there  was 
the  last  person  whom  he  would  have  expected  in  such 
a  place. 

It  was  Ambrose  Bracebridge. 

"Ambrose!"  That  was  all  he  could  say.  His  eyes 
plainly  spoke  his  wonderment. 

"Claude!"  Bracebridge  arose  from  his  knees  and 
turned  to  Claude  with  a  frank,  open  smile  on  his  face. 
He  held  out  his  hand  to  Winters. 

"What  does  this  mean,  Ambrose?    Are  you  a — " 

"Am  I  a  Catholic  you  are  going  to  ask?" 

"Yes.    Are  you  a — " 

"Wait  a  moment,  Claude,"  said  Ambrose.  "Let  us  sit 
down  on  this  log  close  here  in  the  shade.  I  have  a  few 
things  to  say." 

"But  tell  me  first,  are  you  a  Catholic?  Oh,  Ambrose, 
if  you  are — " 

"Listen  for  a  while  and  then  you  will  hear  what  I  am. 
Do  you  remember  what  you  told  my  father  the  last  time 
you  visited  him?" 

"I  remember  nothing  in  particular." 

"Think,  Claude." 

"Oh,  yes,  I  remember  something  I  said  at  table,  for 
which  I  was  taken  to  task  quite  severely  by  Hunter  after- 
wards." 

That  there  was  an  association  among  a  number  of  you 


LEAVE-TAKINQ.  229 

by  which  you  bound  yourselves  to  pray  for  my  conver- 
sion to  the  faith?" 

"Yes,  yes.  I  remember  it  now.  How  Hunter  did 
scold  for  revealing  its  existence.  Why  he  did  so  I  could 
not  well  understand.  I  could  see  no  earthly  reason  why 
it  should  be  made  such  a  mystery.  We  are  not  ashamed 
of  it,  nor  of  you,  Ambrose." 

"I  hope  not,  especially  the  latter,"  said  Bracebridge. 
"But  let  me  tell  you,  Claude,  that  statement  of  yours 
made  at  my  father's  table  affected  him  very  much;  but 
it  had  a  greater  effect  on  me  than  on  him.  Excuse  me 
if  I  make  some  plain  statements,  which  under  other  cir- 
cumstances might  be  construed  as  offensive." 

"Go  on,  go  on,  old  man.  You  couldn't  offend  me  if 
you  tried." 

Bracebridge  could  not  help  smiling  at  this  extravagant 
statement.  It  was  so  like  Claude. 

"Well,  when  I  came  here  last  September,  I  came  with 
many  prejudices — " 

"Hold  on  there,  Brosie.  Stick  to  the  truth!"  inter- 
rupted Claude. 

"That's  the  truth.  I  wasn't  prejudiced  against  the  sys- 
tem of  studies.  I  knew  that  to  be  of  a  superior  grade. 
But  I  was  prejudiced  against  Catholics,  who,  I  thought, 
represented  radically  false  principles.  I  was  suspicious. 
I  had  heard  how  much  religion — and  I  mean  active,  live, 
energetic  and  real  religion — entered  into  th,e  lives  and 
daily  actions  of  Catholic  students.  When  I  came  I  first 
expected  to  find  it  all  a  mere  superficial  something,  a 
conventionality  affecting  the  surface  of  things,  but  far 
from  penetrating  into  one's  inner  life  and  actuating  one's 
motives." 


230  LEAVE-TORINO. 

"You  dear,  misguided  fellow!  You  thought  we  were 
a  sham.  You — " 

"Wait,  Claude,  I  want  to  tell  you  my  actual  experience. 
From  the  first  I  saw  everybody  openly  and  without  blush- 
ing, daily,  in  public,  say  the  Incarnation  prayers,  [Am- 
brose meant  the  Angelus].  I  watched  your  solemn 
church  service  in  the  mornings,  and  I  said  to  myself  there 
must  be  something  real  and  genuine  here.  The  conduct 
of  one  and  all  at  Mass  was  a  great  sermon  to  me.  I 
noticed  that  those  who  regularly  frequented  the  confes- 
sional were  boys  whose  word  was  their  bond,  whose  lives 
accorded  with  their  professions.  I  soon  learned  that  fun 
and  jollity,  aye  and  even  practical  jokes,  were  not  incom- 
patible with  religious  feeling.  In  fact  religion  to  me  now 
is  not  the  somber,  depressing,  uninviting  affair  it  had 
hitherto  appeared.  The  Catholic  religion  is  not  the  lugu- 
brious affair  I  had  always  thought  it  was.  The  conse- 
quence is  that  with  God's  help,  I  intend  to  embrace  that 
faith  which  produces  such  common-sense  results.  Any- 
way it  was  the  religion  of  our  ancestors  for  fifteen  cen- 
turies." 

"Whoop  la!  Glory!  Hurrah!"  shouted  Winters,  in  the 
exuberance  of  his  delight  at  this  good  news.  He  jumped 
up  from  the  log  where  he  was  sitting,  sprang  high  into 
the  air,  and  clicked  his  heels  together  three  distinct  times 
before  he  reached  ground  again.  Claude  had  to  do  some- 
thing extraordinary  to  relieve  his  feelings.  Then  he  be- 
came serious  again. 

"Look  here,  Bracebridge,  I  know  family  petty  perse- 
cutions over  conversions  scarcely  exist  anywhere  any 
more,  for  there  are  too  many  thousands  of  conversions 
going  on  all  over  the  world  in  these  days  for  that  sort 


LEAVE-TAKING.  231 

of  thing  to  survive.  But  have  you  considered  one  thing? 
You  are  your  father's  son,  you  know." 

"I  never  doubted  that  incontestable  fact,"  replied  Am- 
brose, laughingly. 

"Getting  smart,  aren't  you!  Well,  as  your  father's  son 
you  will  inherit  his  estate  and  his  wealth  and  position  by 
and  by.  Will  your  faith,  think  you,  be  strong  enough 
to  stand  the  loss  of  social  prestige?  Are  you  willing  to 
be  probably  looked  down  upon  because  you  are  a 
Catholic?" 

"What  little  I  know  of  the  world,"  replied  Bracebridge, 
"tells  me  your  supposition  is  false.  Your  assumed  posi- 
tion of  Catholics  might  have  been  true  some  fifty — even 
twenty-five — years  ago.  It  is  so  no  longer.  A  very  large 
percentage  in  the  learned  professions  in  every  city  of  the 
union  is  Catholic.  Who  has  not  heard  of  the  numbers 
of  famous  Catholic  scientists?  The  army  and  the  navy 
have  their  share  of  members  of  your  faith,  and  this  with- 
out the  slightest  loss  of  prestige  in  either  branch  of  the 
service.  The  same  in  the  arts,  and  in  letters.  No,  Claude, 
there  is  certainly  no  loss  of  prestige  nowadays  in  becom- 
ing Catholic." 

"But  my  dear  friend,"  answered  Winters,  "what  about 
the  Gregsons,  the  plagiarists — the  'tough'  element?" 

Ambrose  laughed. 

"That  is  no  difficulty.  They  are  undesirable  in  spite 
of,  and  not  because  of,  your  system.  The  individual  case 
gives  me  no  concern.  For  several  months  I  have  been 
carefully  watching  results  as  the  effect  of  a  system  and 
it  thoroughly  satisfies  me.  With  regard  to  individual 
cases,  you  know  the  Scripture  says  that  scandals  must 
needs  come." 


232  LEAVE-TAKING. 

"Yes,  and  'woe  unto  him  by  whom  the  scandal  com- 
eth,'  "  replied  Claude,  who  continued  his  queries. 

"Do  you  think  you  will  find  difficulty  in  accepting  the 
doctrines  of  the  Catholic  Church?  Some  things  appear 
very  hard,  others  absurd  even,  to  outsiders." 

"Candidly,  I  do  not.  I  am  like  thousands  of  other  non- 
Catholics.  We  have  very  little — practically  nothing — to 
unlearn,  because  very  little,  or  practically  nothing,  has 
been  taught  us." 

"This  is  all  just  splendid!"  said  Claude,  enthusiasti- 
cally. "When  are  you  going  to  be  received?  After  the 
graduation  ceremonies?" 

"Impetuous Claude!  Scarcely.  It  was  only  yesterday 
I  spoke  to  the  President  and  put  myself  under  his  instruc- 
tion. But  wasn't  it  strange  that  he  should  say  that  he  had 
been  expecting  me  to  come  and  do  this  very  thing?" 

"Not  at  all." 

"No?  Well,  papa  is  not  going  abroad  this  summer, 
so  during  vacation  I  am  going  to  study  the  question  quite 
thoroughly.  Already  the  President  has  given  me  some 
books  and  a  catechism." 

"Let  me  congratulate  you,  Ambrose,"  said  the  other 
boy,  warmly,  and  heartily  shaking  his  hand.  "From  the 
first  time  I  saw  you  I  liked  you.  Your  conversion  to  the 
faith  will  only  rivet  the  bonds  of  our  friendship  more 
tightly." 

Still  holding  his  friend's  hand,  he  continued: 

"This  makes  me  wish  you  were  my  brother.  Ever 
since  I  knew  you  I  felt  as  if  you  were.  The  only  barrier 
was  the  difference  of  our  faith,  and  I  hope  that 
now — " 

But  Claude  did  not  continue.    He  squeezed  the  hand 


CHUDWALLA.  233 

of  Bracebridge  and  then  suddenly  turned  away.  He  had 
a  boy's  repugnance  to  any  display  of  emotion. 

"I  intend  to  interest  Rose  in  my  vacation  reading,  both 
for  the  stimulus  it  will  give  me,  and  for  the  possibility 
that  it  may  lead  her  to  think  the  same  way  as  I  do." 

"Ah!"  said  Claude.  It  was  a  peculiar  intonation. 
There  was,  for  a  moment,  a  far-away  look  in  his  eyes. 
Neither  the  tone  of  that  one  word,  nor  his  look,  nor  the 
"brown  study"  into  which  he  had  fallen  and  in  which  he 
appeared  to  be  building  castles  in  Spain,  shall  we  attempt 
to  analyze.  They  do  not  belong  to  our  story,  and  we 
simply  do  not  know  what  they  meant. 

His  reverie  was  interrupted  by  the  ringing  of  the  big 
bell  calling  the  students  to  the  hall  to  witness  the  closing 
exercises  of  the  year. 

Without  speaking  Claude  clasped  his  friend's  hand 
once  more.  Silently,  in  that  woodland  shrine,  the  two 
knelt  at  the  feet  of  Our  Lady,  Seat  of  Wisdom — a  beauti- 
ful close  to  Claude's  career  as  a  college  student. 


CHAPTER  XXVI. 

CHUDWALLA. 

"LooK  here,  young  gentlemen,  it  is  not  customary  for 
even  saloon  passengers  to  take  possession  of  my  ship. 
The  first  mate  caught  both  of  you  down  in  the  engine- 
room  this  morning,  and  the  steward  says  that  at  breakfast 
time  you  were  in  the  steerage  and  now  here  you  are  up 
here  on  my  own  private  domain." 


234  CHVDWALLA. 

Two  handsome  boys,  or  to  speak  more  correctly,  one 
young  man  and  a  boy,  in  white  yachting  suits  and  sailor 
hats,  stood  before  the  captain  of  a  big  ocean  steamer  on 
the  captain's  look-out  bridge.  The  youngsters  did  not 
appear  to  take  the  reproof  of  the  captain  very  much  to 
heart.  The  elder  one  gave  what  he  thought  to  be  a  nauti- 
cal hitch  to  his  pants  and  tugged  at  his  forelock  as  he  had 
seen  some  sailors  do.  His  smaller  companion  imitated 
him. 

"Ay,  ay,  sir,"  said  laughing  Claude  Winters,  for  it 
was  he. 

"Ay,  ay,  sir,"  said  Ernest,  in  imitation  of  his  brother. 
The  younger  boy  thought  it  was  great  fun.  Both  seemed 
to  regard  the  interview  as  a  scene  from  "Pinafore." 

A  good-natured  smile  spread  over  the  captain's 
weather-stained  features.  He  had  taken  a  fancy  to  these 
two  pleasant-faced  boys.  There  was  something  genial — 
sunny  about  them.  He  kept  up  a  pretence  of  being 
severe.  Stroking  his  white  side-whiskers  to  hide  too 
broad  a  smile,  he  continued: 

"If  you  want  to  be  sailors  for  this  voyage  you  have  to 
keep  the  ship's  regulations.  You  are  out  of  bounds  now 
— isn't  that  the  term  they  use  at  college,  eh  ?  They  did  in 
my  day.  You  have  no  right  to  be  on  my  look-out  bridge. 
Here,  Mr.  Steward,"  and  he  shouted  to  that  official,  who 
was  just  then  passing  on  the  deck  below,  "take  these  two 
lambs  down  and  put  them  in  irons  for  insubordination. 
Discipline  must  be  observed  on  my  ship." 

Ernest  looked  frightened,  and  felt  very  much  like  cry- 
ing. Claude  took  in  the  situation  and  with  as  nautical 
an  "ay,  ay,  sir,"  as  he  could  command,  began  to  go 
down. 


CHUD  WALLA.  235 

"Here  you  boys,  come  here,"  said  their  father.  "Cap- 
tain, you  must  put  these  boys  to  picking  oakum  or  some- 
thing of  that  sort,  if  they  are  troublesome  to  you." 

"That's  all  right,  Mr.  Winters,"  replied  the  laughing 
captain.  "They're  good  boys.  Let  them  learn  all  they 
can,  and  see  all  there  is  to  be  seen  about  a  big  ocean 
vessel." 

Ernest  felt  relieved.  He  had  taken  the  captain's  words 
literally,  to  the  great  amusement  of  his  bigger  brother. 
The  two  boys  certainly  saw  all  there  was  to  be  seen.  The 
thing  that  pleased  Claude  the  most  when  out  in  mid- 
ocean  was  the  dark-blue  of  the  waters  and  its  marvelous 
clearness.  He  would  lean  over  the  side  of  the  vessel  and 
gaze  long  into  the  calm  of  the  depths  below,  until  he  some- 
times imagined  that  the  great  ship  was  floating  through 
space,  with  the  material  world  of  waters  far  below. 

The  phosphorescent  illumination  of  the  wave  crests  at 
night  was  also  a  source  of  interest  to  him.  Late  into 
the  night  he  often  watched  these  wonderful  effects,  as  the 
stately  vessel  forged  ahead  with  untiring  activity. 

Claude's  impressions  of  the  sea  were  various.  That 
which  seemed  to  have  most  influence  upon  him  was  its 
immensity.  The  large  ocean  steamer,  which,  at  the  dock 
and  motionless,  looked  so  gigantic,  appeared  to  him  when 
in  mid-ocean's  tremendous  expanse  to  be  a  small  and 
almost  insignificant  thing.  The  vivacious,  but  after  all 
genuine  and  thoughtful  boy,  realized  on  this,  his  first  sea 
voyage,  how  intimately  man  is  directed  and  controlled  by 
a  divine  Providence.  How  especially,  it  seemed  to  him, 
"those  that  go  down  to  the  sea  in  ships"  require  this 
providential  care. 

This  was  realized  particularly  on  one  occasion  when 


236  CHUDWALLA. 

there  came  up  a  considerable  "blow,"  causing  the  stately 
vessel  to  roll  and  pitch  most  uncomfortably.  Claude, 
in  this  storm,  was  the  only  one  of  his  party  who  suf- 
fered from  "mal  de  mer." 

This  was  particularly  annoying  to  the  young  Bachelor 
of  Arts,  especially  as  neither  his  mother,  nor  father,  nor 
Laura,  his  sister,  nor  even  Ernest  suffered  any  inconven- 
ience, and  poor  Claude  was  the  object  of  some  comical 
solicitude. 

On  the  afternoon  of  the  third  day  of  the  voyage  Mr. 
Winters  was  sitting  on  the  deck  in  the  shade  of  the  deck- 
cabin.  He  had  a  book  in  his  hand,  and  from  time  to  time 
turned  over  the  pages.  His  reading  was  only  a  pretense, 
for  he  was  in  reality  intent  upon  enjoying  the  deliciously 
soft  breeze  of  the  ocean.  He  was  well  pleased  with  him- 
self. He  had  gotten  away  from  New  York  without  any 
extra  complications  in  regard  to  his  boys'  safety.  He 
was  now,  three  weeks  after  Claude  had  left  school,  on  his 
way  to  India,  finally  to  dispose  of  an  affair  which  had 
caused  him  and  his  wife  many  anxious  hours.  In  a  short 
time  he  now  hoped  to  have  everything  arranged,  so  that 
there  would  be  no  more  cause  for  alarm  or  uneasiness. 

Looking  up  from  his  book,  either  by  chance  or  perhaps 
to  rest  his  eyes  for  a  moment,  Mr.  Winters  received  a 
great  shock.  Not  fifty  feet  away  from  him,  leaning 
against  the  capstan  of  the  ship,  stood  the  one  man  of  all 
others  whom  he  desired  the  least  to  see. 

That  man  was  Chudwalla! 

How  and  when  had  the  great  wizard  come  on  board? 
How  had  he  concealed  himself  for  so  long  a  time?  Not 
one  of  the  family  had  the  faintest  suspicion  that  the  Hindu 
was  in  the  same  ship  with  them.  How  had  he  come 


CHVDWALLA.  237 

aboard?  He  certainly  had  not  done  this  within  ten  min- 
utes of  the  ship's  leaving  her  moorings  in  the  river.  Nor 
had  he  arrived  by  the  ship's  tender. 

The  father  of  Claude  was  much  surprised.  He  felt  a 
chill  as  of  some  presentiment  of  impending  evil  come 
over  him.  What  did  this  man  want  on  board?  Did  his 
presence  portend  disaster  to  all  his  well-laid  plans? 

Chudwalla  stood  leaning  against  the  capstan.  With  his 
right  hand  he  was  stroking  his  black  silken  mustache. 
At  the  moment  he  was  perceived  he  was  dreamily  looking 
out  to  sea. 

As  Mr.  Winters  watched  his  face,  seen  at  the  moment 
in  profile,  he  could  but  acknowledge  that  he  saw  a  manly, 
handsome  face.  The  features  were  long  and  regular  and 
clear-cut.  The  black  penciling  of  the  eyebrows  helped  to 
throw  into  prominence  the  piercing  black  eyes.  The  lips 
were  rather  thin  and  coral  red,  showing  off  to  advantage 
the  rich  tawny  skin.  He  was  dressed  in  civilian's  plain 
black  clothes,  without  a  particle  of  color.  Dressed  as  he 
was  in  such  inconspicuous  garments,  he  would  have  at- 
tracted attention  nowhere,  were  it  not  for  the  swarthiness 
of  his  face. 

Suddenly  Chudwalla  appeared  to  start  out  of  his  reverie. 
He  straightened  himself  from  his  leaning  position  and 
made  as  if  to  take  a  walking  exercise  along  the  deck.  He 
turned  and  saw  Mr.  Winters.  He  gave  an  almost  imper- 
ceptible start,  checked  himself  momentarily  and  then  ad- 
vanced. Raising  his  hat  slightly  as  he  approached,  he 
said  in  almost  perfect  accents: 

"I  believe  I  have  the  pleasure  of  addressing  Mr.  Win- 
ters, formerly  of  India,  and  son  of  Colonel  Winters  of 
Simla?" 


238  CHUDWALLA. 

Mr.  Winters,  with  ill-disguised  coldness,  arose  and 
bowed.  He  then  motioned  the  other  to  a  seat. 

"You  are,  my  dear  sir,  probably  surprised  at  two 
things,"  began  Chudwalla.  "First  that  I  should  not  have 
appeared  among  the  passengers  before  this.  The  reason 
of  this  is  that  I  have  been  recently  very  much  run  down 
by  overwork  and  have  been  taking  the  modern  American 
rest  cure  for  a  few  days  in  the  seclusion  of  my  own  cabin, 
where  my  attendant  has  brought  me  my  meals.  The 
second  surprise  doubtless  is  that  I  know  your  name. 
You  must  lay  the  blame  of  that  to  the  publicity  of  the 
ship's  passenger  list." 

Mr.  Winters  bowed,  but  evinced  no  inclination  to  afford 
opportunity  for  a  tete-a-tete  conversation. 

"The  name  of  Winters,"  continued  the  other,  appar- 
ently intent  on  forcing  a  dialogue,  "has  been  familiar  to 
me  in  India  from  my  childhood,  and  knowing  that  a  Win- 
ters was  on  board,  I  had  but  to  look  at  you  to  be  con- 
vinced that  I  saw  a  son  of  the  old  colonel." 

Mr.  Winters  murmured  something  conventional,  end- 
ing in  "quite  delighted,"  but  Chudwalla  perceived  that  it 
was  merely  conventional. 

"I  should  regret  it  extremely  if  I  were  intruding  on 
your  privacy,"  he  remarked  inquiringly. 

"Oh,  no,  I  assure  you;  not  in  the  least." 

"Thank  you.  Then  I  may  say  frankly  that  I  am  glad 
we  have  met.  I  have  often  desired  to  do  so.  Do  you 
know  I  once  thought  I  saw  you  in  a  New  York  theater, 
where  I  have  been  giving  legerdemain  performances  for 
nearly  a  year." 

"I  saw  you  once  in  the  theater,"  replied  Mr.  Winters. 

"Indeed !     Then  probably  it  was  you  I  saw  after  all," 


CHUDWALLA.  239 

at  the  end  of  the  pathway  leading  from  the  stage!  Yes? 
How  stupid  of  my  man!  I  sent  him  out  to  invite  you 
to  see  me  behind  the  scenes.  He  failed  to  bring  you, 
although  he  said  he  followed  you  to  a  hotel,  but  he  either 
had  not  the  courage  to  address  you,  or  was,  perhaps,  not 
sure  that  you  were  the  person  I  wanted." 

Mr.  Winters  remembered  the  circumstance  quite  well, 
but  he  now  remained  silent.  While  Chudwalla  had  been 
speaking,  the  father  of  the  two  boys  had  decided  on  a  line 
of  action.  He  perceived  clearly  that  within  the  narrow 
limits  of  a  steamship,  Chudwalla  could  do  nothing  to  en- 
danger his  children's  safety,  whatever  might  be  his  plans 
for  the  future.  In  the  meantime  some  understanding 
might  be  arrived  at.  At  all  events  by  allowing  the  Hindu 
to  talk  freely — as  he  seemed  inclined  to  do — he  would 
probably  learn  his  intentions  and  so  would  not  be  acting 
in  the  dark  when  the  forced  inactivity  of  the  voyage  had 
come  to  an  end. 

He  therefore  determined  to  talk  freely  with  the  con- 
jurer, who  appeared  to  be  a  well-educated  man,  and  of  a 
decidedly  gentlemanly  bearing.  Only  by  conversation 
could  he  arrive  at  the  knowledge  of  Chudwalla's  inten- 
tions. If  he  were  the  personification  of  the  revenge  of 
the  tribesmen,  he  was  probably  also  self-interested  in  the 
recovery  of  the  yellow  diamond.  He  would  hold  to  his 
original  plan  of  offsetting  one  of  these  against  the 
other.  He  therefore  changed  his  manner  toward  Chud- 
walla. 

"I  am  pleased  to  meet  one  who  knew  my  father,"  he 
remarked. 

"I  knew,  also,  Samaba,  the  faithful  old  servant  of  your 
family," 


240  CHUDWALLA. 

"Indeed !  You  surprise  me !  You  must,  then,  have 
lived  at  Chour,  or  at  Simla?" 

"I  grew  up  the  friend  and  companion  of  his  son.  On 
the  night  that  Samaba  warned  you  not  to  bring  your  wife 
and  son  back  to  Chour  on  account  of  the  restless  and 
dangerous  state  of  feeling  among  the  natives,  I  was  within 
earshot  of  your  conversation  in  the  fort  garden.  He  had 
come  to  protect  you  and  your  wife  and  child,  and  shield 
you  all  from  danger ;  I,  to  protect  him." 

"All  this,"  said  Mr.  Winters,  "is  very  interesting.  Pray 
go  on.  I  should  be  delighted  to  hear  the  story  of  your 
life." 

"My  life  has  been  an  uneventful  one.  When  a  boy  I 
was  left  an  orphan.  Samaba  brought  me  up  with  his  son. 
When  his  boy  died  of  the  cholera,  of  which  we  both  were 
sick,  he  nursed  me  back  to  life  and  soon  after  adopted 
me.  When  I  was  old  enough,  he  sent  me  to  Calcutta 
to  be  educated  at  a  large  college  there.  The  wonderful 
always  had  a  fascination  for  me.  Even  when  a  very  small 
boy,  I  could  successfully  imitate  some  of  the  illusions  of 
the  fakirs.  During  my  stay  in  Calcutta,  which  lasted  sev- 
eral years,  my  time  was  divided  between  my  books  and 
the  practice  of  legerdemain,  which,  as  you  know,  is  held 
in  such  esteem — almost  veneration — by  my  own  country- 
men. I  possessed  a  wonderful  faculty  for  acquiring  lan- 
guages. I  read  all  the  books  I  could  secure  on  necro- 
mancy, and  I  assure  you  I  have  read  some  most  wonder- 
ful things." 

"And  have  become  an  expert  in  the  black  art?"  said 
Mr.  Winters,  suspiciously. 

"By  no  means,"  replied  Chudwalla,  laughing,  "I  have 
nothing  to  do  with  occultism  or  the  black  art,  in  which  the 


CHUDWALLA.  241 

aid  of  evil  spirits  is  invoked.  I  directed  my  inquiries  en- 
tirely to  what  is  known  as  magic  or  sleight-of-hand  or 
legerdemain,  by  which  the  skill  of  the  performer  deceives 
the  observer.  I  am  quite  persuaded  that  ninety-nine  hun- 
dredths  of  the  effects  produced  by  the  Buddhist  adepts 
or  so-called  mahatmas  are  mere  illusions.  Before  I  finally 
adopted  the  wizards  avocation  as  a  lifework  I  traveled 
largely  in  Europe,  in  Asia,  and  in  parts  of  Africa.  My 
intention  was  ever  to  find  out  some  new  and  wonderful 
performance  which  mere  human  skill  could  accomplish. 
With  what  success  I  believe  you  were  witness  in  New 
York." 

"Yes.  The  results  you  produced  were  certainly  won- 
derful, marvelous!  I  believe  you  are  a  friend  of  Za,  the 
chief  of  the  tribe  at  Chour,  near  my  father's  estate?" 

"Yes;  for  several  years  I  was  an  inmate  of  his  house, 
and  regarded  as  one  of  the  family.  It  nearly  broke  the 
old  man's  heart  when  he  lost  that  great  yellow  diamond 
at  the  time  the  little  temple  on  the  hill  at  Chour  was 
attacked." 

"I  have  heard  of  that  uprising,"  said  Mr.  Winters,  hop- 
ing that  Chudwalla  would  continue.  ''Was  it  then  so  val- 
uable a  stone?" 

"Its  intrinsic  value  was  not  nearly  so  great  as  the  ficti- 
tious and  sentimental  value  Za  attached  to  it.  He  was, 
and  even  now  is,  very  superstitious.  He  still  attaches 
great  importance  to  its  recovery." 

"Do  you  think  that  will  ever  be  accomplished?" 

"I  do  not  know.  I  have  been  searching  for  it  for  years. 
It  was  owing  to  the  faint  possibility  of  recovering  it  in 
the  United  States  that  I  consented  to  come  over  to  your 
country.  Za  had  consulted  some  yogi,  who  in  a  sort  of 


242  CHVDWALLA. 

pretended  vision  had  said  the  stone  was  in  the  land  of 
great  fresh  water  seas.  Africa  would  answer  that  descrip- 
tion equally  well  with  America.  I  must  confess  that  a 
desire  to  see  your  wonderful  country  had  more  influence 
with  me  than  any  well-founded  hope  of  recovering  the 
stone." 

"Did  you  discover  any  trace  of  the  jewel?" 

"Not  a  ghost  of  a  trace.  It  is  ten  times  more  probable 
that — as  your  people  say — one  would  discover  a  needle 
in  a  haystack.  I  am  sorry  for  Za's  forthcoming  disap- 
pointment. Just  imagine,  Mr.  Winters,  the  improbability 
of  discovering  a  solitary,  unidentified — and  probably 
stolen — diamond  among  seventy  or  eighty  millions  of 
people  and  in  so  vast  an  area." 

"What  made  you  search  for  it  then?"  asked  Mr.  Win- 
ters. 

The  wizard  shrugged  his  shoulders  and  turned  the 
palms  of  his  delicate  hands  outward.  If  he  had  a  reason, 
he  did  not,  evidently  intend  to  reveal  it.  Then  he  seemed 
suddenly  to  change  his  mind  and  spoke  freely. 

"For  hope  of  gain.  You  are  aware  Za  promised  some 
very  rich  land — and  I  know  that  he  has  the  absolute 
rights  of  its  disposal — to  him  who  should  return  the  dia- 
mond. I  confess  that  I  very  much  wish  to  get  possession 
of  that  land." 

This  was  just  what  Mr.  Winters  wished  might  be. 

"You  admit,  sir,"  said  Mr.  Winters,  "that  the  prospect 
of  finding  this  celebrated  diamond  in  America  was  ex- 
ceedingly slim,  yet  you  have  spent  nearly  a  year  in  that 
country.  Am  I  not  correct  when  I  surmise  that  there 
must  be  other  reasons  for  your  long  sojourn  there?" 

"Your  surmises  are  correct.     There  were ;  one  I  have 


CHVDWALLA.  248 

mentioned — my  love  of  travel  and  of  seeing  new  sights 
and  new  people.  Yours  is  a  wonderful  people,  in  every- 
thing the  antithesis  of  mine.  The  genius  of  your  people 
is  what  some  of  you  aptly  term  go-a-headitiveness;  ours 
is  conservatism.  Your  people  want  to  know  the  answer 
to  the  why  and  wherefore  in  all  that  is  wonderful  and 
strange;  ours,  on  the  contrary,  are  content  to  know  of  the 
existence  of  the  fact.  You  are  progressive;  we  are  sta- 
tionary. In  one  thing  only  do  I  see  that  you  at  all 
resemble  us.  Both  countries  have  the  extremes  of 
wealth  and  destitution,  and  the  extremes  of  learning  and 
utter  ignorance.  Excuse  me,  perhaps  I  am  wandering 
from  your  question.  Yes,  love  of  travel,  and  a  vague  hope 
of  recovering  the  diamond  were  motives  which  brought 
me  to  America;  but  there  was  a  third  reason,  and  one 
that  affects  you,  sir,  and  your  family  most  closely." 

"Ah!"  Had  Mr.  Winters'  life  depended  on  it  he  could 
not  have  resisted  this  exclamation. 

"You  probably  remember  when  your  father,  Colonel 
Winters,  demolished  the  Hindu  temple  on  his  property 
at  Chour,  our  people — and  I  say  'our'  because  I  had  been 
adopted  into  Za's  tribe — our  people  swore  to  wreak  their 
vengeance  on  the  Winters'  family.  They  dared  not  touch 
your  father,  nor  you,  but  it  was  decided  to  steal  and  hold 
as  hostage  your  son.  T  was  instructed  by  several  of  the 
older  men  of  the  tribe  to  bring  about  this  result.  To  the 
credit  of  Za,  it  must  be  said  that  he  was  utterly  and  radi- 
cally opposed  to  the  project.  But  perhaps  I  tire  you,  Mr. 
Winters?" 

"No,  no,  no.  Go  on,  sir,  if  you  please,  go  on,  go  on/' 
said  he,  breathlessly.  His  brain  was  in  a  whirl.  Should 
he  have  this  smooth  talker  arrested!  The  ship  was  still 


244  CHUDWALLA. 

under  United  States  laws.  The  captain  would  certainly 
listen.  Confessed  complicity  in  a  conspiracy  to  kidnap. 
He  really  did  not  know  what  to  do  at  the  moment. 

"Well,"  continued  Chudwalla  with  the  utmost  coolness, 
''I  weighed  the  matter  very  carefully  and  came  to  the 
conclusion  that  while  in  the  United  States,  at  least.  I  could 
effect  nothing.  My  spare  time  between  my  performances 
was  devoted  to  rest,  or  to  searching  for  the  diamond.  If 
that  were  found  there  was  certain  remuneration.  If  your 
son  were  stolen  by  me,  I  imagined  that  with  your  marvel- 
ous detective  system,  I  should  never  get  the  lad  safely 
into  India,  but  probably  get  myself  into  very  serious 
trouble  instead.  I  must  confess  that  I  looked  for  him 
occasionally  in  a  desultory  kind  of  way,  but  really  I  saw 
little  probability  of  success.  Then,  you  see,  there  was  no 
particular  reward  offered  for  the  boy's  capture,  and — 

"Upon  my  word,  sir,"  interrupted  Mr.  Winters,  very 
excitedly. 

"I  beg  of  you  not  to  get  excited,"  was  the  counter-inter- 
ruption. 

"Not  get  excited !  Not  get  ex —  When  the  safety  of 
my  own  boy,  and  the  peace  of  my  own  family  for  all  these 
years  have  been  at  stake!" 

"Now,  please  don't — don't  get  excited.  It  really  isn't 
worth  while." 

"I  am  not  of  your  opinion,  sir.  I  believe  it  decidedly 
worth  while." 

"I  have  said,"  continued  Chudwalla,  in  spite  of  his 
auditor's  fretting  and  fuming,  "I  have  said  that  I  relin- 
quished the  idea  of  capturing  your  son — and  by  capturing 
I  mean  putting  him  in  the  power  of  the  more  vindictive 
members  of  the  hill  tribe — because  I  saw  no  money  in  it. 


CHUDWALLA.  245 

Money,  I  confess — to  secure  money,  is  my  chief  object 
in  life  now.  And  to  be  plain  with  you,  your  boy  is  now 
and  has  been  completely  out  of  my  power.  Should  he 
ever  be  found,  for  instance,  alone  in  the  hill  country  in 
India — ah,  that  would  be  a  different  matter.  But  as  that 
will  scarcely  happen,  you  have  nothing  to  be  uneasy 
about." 

"Upon  my  word,  sir,"  said  Mr.  Winters  again,  "this 
cool,  deliberate  manner  of  discussing  an  enormous  crime 
is  exasperating." 

"It  all  depends,  my  good  sir,  on  the  point  of  view.  If 
by  kidnapping  your  son,  or  anybody's  else's  son  for  that 
matter,  I  could  make  as  you  Americans  say  'a  big  stroke,' 
believe  me  I  should  not  hesitate  to  make  the  attempt, 
and  be  prepared  to  face  success  or  failure  with  equa- 
nimity." 

Mr.  Winters  recognized  that  the  polished  speaker 
before  him,  so  unlike  the  ordinary  Hindu,  was  eager  and 
anxious  only  to  acquire  money — eager  with  a  Semitic 
persistency.  He  therefore  determined  to  play  his  last 
card,  which  he  knew  to  be  a  high  trump.  If  this  failed, 
he  decided  to  have  the  wizard  arrested  either  at  once,  if 
the  captain  of  the  vessel  would  act  in  the  matter,  or  at 
the  first  port  they  reached. 

"You  tell  me  that  the  acquisition  of  money  is  now  the 
chief  consideration  with  you?" 

"Candidly,  the  chief  and  only  consideration.  I  have 
seen  too  much  squalor  and  misery  ever  to  despise  it 
again." 

"Now,  sir,  1  am  not  by  any  means  sure  that  I  ought  to 
enter  into  any  negotiations  with  you.  On  the  contrary, 
I  believe  I  ought  to  institute  proceedings  against  you." 


246  CBUDWALLA. 

Chudwalla  smiled  a  dark,  significant  smile  and  his  white 
teeth  beneath  his  black  mustache  seemed  to  grate.  '  He 
did  not  speak,  but  bowed  expectantly. 

"But  what  would  you  do  if  I  were  to  show  you  a  sure 
way  of  recovering  the  diamond  ?" 

"Recover  the  diamond!" 

"Yes." 

"The  real  Eye  of  Brahma!  What  would  I  do?  Do? 
I  would  do  anything — everything,  everything!" 

This  time  it  was  Chudwalla  who  was  excited.  Winters, 
his  plan  promising  success,  became  cool.  The  wizard's 
wonderful  black  eyes  now  fairly  sparkled  with  excitement. 
Two  vivid  red  spots  had  mounted  to  his  cheeks.  His 
hands  trembled. 

"I  would  do  anything,"  he  said,  "to  get  that  diamond. 
Where  is  it  ?  Do  you  know  ?  Speak,  speak." 

"Not  so  fast,  my  friend.  I  beg  of  you  not  to  get 
excited.  It  isn't  worth  while,"  said  Mr.  Winters,  uninten- 
tionally using  almost  the  same  words  that  Chudwalla  had 
addressed  to  him  a  few  minutes  before.  The  wizard  saw 
the  unconscious  humor  of  the  situation,  and,  excited 
though  he  was,  burst  out  laughing. 

"The  tables  are  turned,  surely!  But  tell  me — tell  me 
how  I  may  recover  that  diamond  and  I  will  be  your 
friend  forever." 

The  man  who  had  for  years  suffered  so  much  anxiety, 
looked  for  a  few  moments  into  Chudwalla's  eyes,  as  if 
he  would  read  therein  this  strange  man's  innermost  soul. 
The  look  was  appealing — as  from  one  man  to  another. 
But  he  was  baffled.  Those  dark  eyes,  prominent  now  in 
their  excitement,  revealed  only  this  excitement.  There 
was  really  no  human  sympathy  in  them.  Mr.  Winters 


CHUDWALLA.  247 

saw  that  sentiment,  or  a  father's  anxiety,  would  be  no 
factor  in  the  solution  of  the  case.  He  therefore  took  a 
mere  business  view  of  the  case.  He  would  get  as  much 
value  for  his  money  as  he  could. 

"Now,  Mr.  Chudwalla,  you  seem  to  be  a  man  of  the 
world,  with  a  remarkable  eye  to  the  'main  chance'  as  we 
say.  It  must  be  quite  evident  to  you  that  I  have  a  motive 
in  offering  this  suggestion." 

"Of  course.  That  is  plain.  Enable  me  to  recover  that 
diamond  and  I  will  accede  to  every  wish  of  yours.  Mine 
is  chiefly  a  mercenary  motive,  I  grant,  but,  believe  me, 
there  is  sentiment  also.  I  loved  and  love  old  Za.  He 
has  been  a  father  to  me  for  years.  Nothing,  I  know, 
would  give  him  greater  pleasure  than  the  recovery  of  that 
bit  of  carbon  upon  which  he  places  so  extraordinary  a 
value.  I  could  perform  no  more  gracious  act  for  the  old 
man  than  this." 

"Umph!  Sentiment  and  graciousness  do  not  seem  to 
enter  into  your  calculations  when  a  father's  and  mother's 
peace  of  mind,  or  a  son's  safety  are  concerned." 

"My  dear  sir,  you  forget  the  different  conditions.  You 
and  your  family  are  strangers  to  me — have  no  claim  on 
me.  So  far  as  you  are  concerned  it  is  with  me  merely  a 
business  consideration.  Excuse  me  for  speaking  so 
plainly.  With  Za  and  myself  it  is  different.  I  love  the 
old  man.  He  has  been  another  father  to  me  as  I  have 
told  you." 

"I  think  I  perceive  the  distinction  you  would  draw. 
Of  course  you  can  easily  understand,  that  while  not  averse 
to  assisting  you  it  is  for  my  own  benefit  that  I  do  so." 

"I  quite  understand." 

"Very  well.     Placate  thoroughly  the  native  population 


m  CtiUDWALLA. 

at  Chour  in  favor  of  my  family,  assure  me  that  the  notJon 
of  and  desire  for  revenge  is  obliterated,  render  it  abso- 
lutely safe  for  my  children  in  the  vicinity,  and — " 

"And  you  give  me  the  diamond?" 

"It  will  be  forthcoming  as  soon  as  I  and  the  English 
officers  at  Simla  are  satisfied.  You  will  proceed  at  once 
to  Chour.  I  remain  in  England  for  some  days.  Three 
weeks  will  be  sufficient.  I  come  at  once  to  India  when  I 
hear  from  my  friends  at  Simla." 

"I  promise,  I  promise!"  said  Chudwalla,  eagerly,  and 
Winters  knew  he  would  keep  his  word.  "I  am  the  great- 
est man  in  the  tribe,  next  to  Za.  The  natives  regard  me 
with  something  like  superstitious  awe  as  a  wonder 
worker." 

"Very  good.  You  will  find,  I  believe,  your  tribe  not 
so  difficult  to  manage  now  as  formerly,  for  the  Sisters  of 
Mercy  are  already  established  there." 

"What!  Those  female  Brahmins  of  your  religion! 
Your  women  mendicants  who  feed  the  old  and  the  young! 
Then  my  task  will  be  so  much  the  easier.  When  even 
the  money-getting  men  of  your  nation  hold  these  won- 
derful women  in  veneration,  what  will  not  the  simple  and 
unsophisticated  natives  of  the  hills  do?  I  promise.  You 
shall  see  how  Chudwalla  can  keep  his  word." 

Just  at  that  moment  Claude  and  Ernest,  with  their  arms 
entwined  around  each  other's  shoulders,  came  skipping 
along  the  deck.  They  did  not  see  the  two  men  until  close 
upon  them. 

Ernest  looked  up  first 

"Oh,  oh,  Claude!  There's  Big  Eyes.  Oh,  Tm  so 
frightened!"  and  Claude  felt  the  little  fellow  tremble.  "He 
is  talking  to  pa,  too.  Will  he  take  him  away  ?" 


CHVDWALLA.  249 

"No  danger  of  that,  Ernie.  Don't  be  afraid.  He  can 
not  hurt  you,  now,"  said  Claude. 

"Let's  run  away/'  said  Ernest. 

"Here,  Claude,  Ernest,  come  here,"  called  their  father, 
just  as  they  were  on  the  point  of  beating  a  retreat. 

"My  two  sons,  sir,"  said  the  father  to  Chud walla,  who 
shook  hands  with  the  boys,  but  did  not  speak.  Seeing 
that  the  two  lads  were  nervous,  their  father  soon  dismissed 
them.  He  then  said: 

"Will  you  oblige  me  by  explaining  one  thing?" 

"Certainly,  if  I  can." 

"Why  did  you  attempt  to  kidnap  my  younger  son  last 
September  at  St.  Cuthbert's  college?" 

"I  see  now  it  was  your  son,  although  not  the  eldest, 
whom  I  took  to  the  hotel  that  day.  Then  I  was  not  very 
sure.  I  told  you  before  that  I  had  no  heart  in  this  work. 
The  boy  was  evidently  too  young  to  be  the  one  wanted. 
Then  the  lad  took  my  fancy,  for  he  has  a  bright,  cheerful, 
good  face,  and,  finally,  I  thought  what  would  be  the 
parents'  grief  if  I  took  him  away." 

Mr.  Winters  bowed.  He  was  grateful  to  this  strange, 
mercenary  individual  who,  he  perceived,  had  some  feeling. 

"One  more  question,  if  you  please.  Claude  tells  me 
that  a  mysterious  carriage  was  supposed  to  appear  at  that 
farmhouse  near  St.  Cuthbert's  on  the  night  he  had  to  re- 
main there  owing  to  a  bad  fall.  Had  you  a  hand  in  that?" 

"I  had.  By  that  time  I  had  heard  that  your  eldest  son 
was  in  residence  at  St.  Cuthbert's.  I  put  men  to  watch 
for  him.  I  would  have  carried  him  off  that  night  had  I 
not  discovered  in  time  that  three  stalwart  farmers  were 
guarding  the  house  where  he  was  sleeping.  They  looked 
too  formidable,  so  I  abandoned  my  plan." 


250  HOW  IT  ENDED. 


CHAPTER  XXVII. 

HOW  IT  ENDED. 

OUR  story  is  told.  There  remain  only  two  or  three 
things  to  say.  Chudwalla,  of  course,  kept  his  word  with 
Mr.  Winters.  It  was  to  his  own  interest  to  do  that.  One 
sultry  evening  in  the  middle  of  August,  Za,  Chudwalla 
and  Mr.  Peter  Jenkinson,  the  buyer  of  animals  and  the 
purchaser  of  freaks  for  the  American  amusement  syndi- 
cate, were  once  more  seated  on  the  luxurious  cushions 
in  the  chief's  bungalow.  Jenkinson,  the  globe  traveler, 
had  wandered  around  to  Chour  in  time,  for  in  some  mys- 
terious way  he  had  heard  how  the  diamond  had  been  most 
unexpectedly  recovered.  Although  he  had  now  lost  all 
hope  of  securing  some  of  the  valuable  land  which  the 
chief  had  promised  to  the  one  who  should  restore  the 
precious  stone,  yet  he  had  curiosity  enough  to  induce  him 
to  be  present  at  the  ceremony  of  restoration.  He  had 
learned  also  that  Mr.  Winters,  whom  he  had  met  in  the 
New  York  hotel  had  endowed  the  hospital  and  dispensary 
of  the  Sisters  of  Mercy.  He  intended  to  be  present  at  the 
formal  opening  on  the  morrow.  The  group  was  larger 
than  the  one  which  had  met  in  the  same  room  over  a 
year  before,  at  the  beginning  of  our  story.  A  happy  father 
and  two  sons  were  also  present. 

Mrs.  Winters  could  not  be  persuaded  to  attend.  She 
had  suffered  too  much  mental  torture  for  any  desire  to  see 
the  originators  of  it.  She  had  no  aversion  to  meeting  Za, 


HOW  IT  ENDED.  251 

the  Hindu  chief,  but  she  could  not  bring  herself  to  ex- 
change courtesies  with  Chudwalla,  whom  she  considered 
the  cause  of  all  her  and  her  husband's  anxieties  for  the 
last  twelve  months. 

Servants  lit  the  spirit  lamp  on  the  spiral  tripod  under 
the  brass  dish  of  sandalwood,  and  very  soon  the  room 
was  filled  with  delicious  aromatic  vapor.  Za  remembered 
Mr.  Winters  as  the  Little  Sahib.  He  also  had  a  good 
recollection  of  the  Great  Sahib — Colonel  Winters.  The 
chief  insisted  upon  Mr.  Winters  taking  the  seat  of  honor 
next  to  himself.  His  two  irreverent  boys  burst  into  a 
hearty  laugh  when  they  saw  their  father,  in  Oriental  fash- 
ion, sink  into  a  pile  of  soft  cushions. 

"Oh,  papa,"  said  Ernest,  "do  please  cross  your  legs. 
You  will  make  a  fine  picture  of  the  Grand  Mogul,  or  an 
excellent  model  for  a  clay  idol." 

Chudwalla  was  in  high  spirits.  He  was,  through  the 
instrumentality  of  Mr.  Winters,  about  to  become  the 
owner  of  several  hundred  acres  of  fine  land,  for  the  chief 
had  already  signified  his  intention  of  keeping  his  promise 
to  the  one  who  should  restore  him  the  diamond. 

Za  appeared  to  remember  all  that  had  passed  at  the 
previous  interview.  He  remembered  that  Jenkinson  had 
promised  to  show  Chudwalla  a  greater  American  wizard 
than  he  himself  was.  He  asked  the  conjurer  whether  the 
agent  had  kept  his  word. 

Chudwalla  assured  him  that  Mr.  Jenkinson  had  done 
so.  Jenkinson  had  taken  him  to  Orange,  New  Jersey, 
and  had  introduced  him  to  the  greatest  practical  inventor 
of  the  world,  and  Chudwalla  told  the  simple  old  chief  all 
the  wonders  he  had  seen. 

"But  did  he  keep  his  promise  to  show  to  you  that  you 


252  HOW  IT  ENDED. 

could  hear  a  man  speaking  five  hundred  miles  away?  Is 
such  a  wonderful  thing  possible?" 

"Quite  possible,"  answered  Chudwalla.  "More  than 
once  I  heard  a  man  speaking  to  me  who  was  more  than 
live  hundred  miles  away." 

"Wonderful !  And  can  these  Western  people  carry 
their  voices  around  in  boxes  ?" 

''Certainly.  I  have  often  seen  that,  and  what  is  more 
wonderful,  the  music  of  a  whole  band,  horns,  flutes,  and 
drums,  and  cymbals,  and  all,  can  be  boxed  and  produced 
at  will.  It  is  wonderful." 

The  old  chief  looked  incredulous. 

"The  Sahib  must  have  a  wonderful  country." 

The  two  boys  never  realized  how  wonderful  are  some 
of  our  American  inventions  until  now. 

I 

Then  came  the  restoration  of  the  diamond  to  the  chief. 
Mr.  Winters  had  allowed  Claude  to  restore  the  diamond 
to  Chudwalla,  who,  in  order  that  he  might  claim  the 
reward,  was  to  give  it  personally  into  the  hand  of  Za. 

When  Claude  took  the  precious  Eye  of  Brahma  from 
his  vest  pocket,  and,  relieving  it  of  the  tissue  paper  wrap- 
ping, held  it  up  to  the  light  between  his  finger  and  thumb, 
the  old  chieftain  became  extremely  excited.  He  trembled 
with  eagerness  to  possess  it. 

"My  treasure!  My  precious  Eye!  My  talisman!"  he 
said,  as  he  stretched  out  his  long  bony  fingers  to  grasp  it. 
Claude  stepped  back  a  couple  of  steps.  He  did  not  know 
what  might  happen. 

"Oh,  you  will  restore  it,  young  Sahib !  It  is  my  life ! 
my  treasure!  my  fortune!  It  also  has  brought  me  good 
fortune !  Give  it  to  me — give — give, 

It  appeared  as  if  he  doubted  whether  the  Winters  were 


HOW  IT  ENDED.  253 

in  good  faith  after  all.  The  veins  on  his  forehead  swelled 
and  stood  out  like  small  cords.  His  sallow,  wrinkled  face 
became  livid.  Great  drops  of  perspiration  gathered  on 
his  brow.  He  trembled  visibly. 

"I  did  not  promise  to  give  it  to  you,  but  to  Chudwalla," 
said  Mr.  Winters. 

"But  it  is  mine,  mine! — my  talisman!" 

His  misery  seemed  acute.  The  scene  was  becoming 
too  intense  for  the  nerves  of  all.  At  a  signal  from  his 
father,  Claude  stepped  forward  and  put  the  diamond  into 
Chudwalla's  hand.  Za's  eyes,  with  an  eager,  hungry  look 
in  them,  followed  the  boy's  every  motion.  He  was  some- 
what relieved  when  he  saw  the  diamond  in  the  possession 
of  Chudwalla,  but  his  mind  was  not  fully  at  rest  as  yet. 

With  his  long  claw-like  fingers  still  stretched  out,  he 
looked  eagerly — half-doubtingly — into  the  face  of  the 
wizard.  What  would  that  strange  and  apparently  heart- 
less man  do?  Would  he  claim  a  right  to  it,  and  keep  the 
precious  stone  after  all  ?  All  doubt  and  anxiety  were  soon 
set  at  rest.  Chudwalla  rose  from  his  cushions,  and  kneel- 
ing before  the  old  man,  took  his  trembling  hand  in  his. 

"My  father,"  he  said,  with  more  feeling  than  Mr.  Win- 
ters imagined  he  ever  possessed,  "my  father,  be  happy. 
Take  back  your  lost  treasure.  May  all  good  fortune  re- 
turn with  it!" 

He  took  the  old  man's  hand  in  his  left,  put  the  diamond 
into  it  and  closed  the  fingers  over  it,  pressing  them 
slightly  as  he  did  so,  to  convince  the  chief,  by  the  sense 
of  touch  as  well  as  that  of  sight,  that  he  had  actually 
regained  his  talisman  and  treasure,  the  Eye  of  Brahma. 


254  HOW  IT  ENDED. 

The  following  morning,  August  15,  a  beautiful  sight 
was  witnessed  in  the  little  domestic  chapel  of  the  Sisters 
of  Mercy  at  the  hospital,  not  half  a  mile  away  from  the 
home  of  the  Hindu  chief.  The  community  of  Sisters  were 
devoutly  kneeling  at  Mass.  Lights  and  palms  and  won- 
derful flowers  beautified  the  little  sanctuary.  Several 
Catholic  officers  and  their  wives,  guests  of  the  Winters, 
were  present.  In  the  rear  of  the  chapel  also  knelt  the  non- 
Catholic  Jenkinson.  It  was  the  first  time  he  had  ever 
been  present  at  the  Holy  Sacrifice  of  the  Mass,  and  like 
all  fair-minded  Americans  in  a  similar  position,  he  was 
deeply  impressed. 

To  the  Catholic  visitors  his  attitude  would  have  been 
amusing,  had  they  not  seen  in  him  an  evident  desire  to 
be  respectful.  He  sat  with  his  body  bent  forward,  and 
with  his  hat,  into  which  he  looked  piously,  placed  before 
his  face.  Whether  he  prayed  into  it  or  not  it  is  hard  to 
say.  Ernest,  who  had  never  seen  an  old  style  Protestant 
at  his  devotions  before,  was  much  surprised,  and  only 
repressed  an  audible  giggle  when  he  caught  the  stern 
look  of  his  father's  eye.  Jenkinson  was  in  earnest,  for 
when  at  the  sublime  moment  of  the  Elevation  of  the  Host 
he  saw  everybody  in  the  chapel  bow  low  and  reverently 
adore,  he,  almost  unconsciously,  dropped  on  his  knees. 

"I  don't  know  what  came  over  me."  he  said  afterward, 
"but  I  simply  had  to  get  on  my  knees,  and  I  tell  you, 
gentlemen,  it's  a  long  time  since  I  have  been  in  that 
position." 

He  was  even  more  impressed  when  he  saw  the  Winters 
family,  father,  mother,  Laura,  Claude,  and  Ernest,  kneel 
together  at  the  altar  steps  and  receive  Holy  Communion 
in  thanksgiving  for  dangers  and  anxieties  past,  and  in 


HOW  IT  ENDED.  255 

prayer  for  blessings  for  the  future.  Nor  was  he  less  im- 
pressed when  the  good  Sisters — whom  the  natives  already 
loved  and  whom  their  children  fairly  adored — came  two 
by  two  with  devout  and  modest  motion  to  receive  the 
same  Celestial  Food,  the  only  source  of  strength  and  cour- 
age in  the  tireless  round  of  duties  of  their  arduous  voca- 
tion. 

At  breakfast,  which  was  served  on  the  shady  veranda 
of  the  convent-villa,  Mr.  Jenkinson  remarked — and  those 
who  heard  it  say  there  was  a  strange  earnestness,  almost 
wistfulness,  in  his  voice — "I  have  little  or  no  religion,  but 
if  I  became  anything  I  certainly  would  be  a  Catholic.  I 
wish  I  could  be  one.  At  all  events  I  have  learned  some- 
thing to-day.  I  have  often  wondered  why  so  many  Cath- 
olic families  seem  so  much  happier  than  other  people.  It 
seems  to  me  that  it  is  on  account  of  their  religion.  To 
see  you,  sir,  and  your  family  so  united  at  that  church  ser- 
vice this  morning  was  a  lesson  to  me.  I  wish  I  could 
bring  about  the  same  thing  in  my  family.  This  is  my  last 
trip  around  the  world,  and  I  believe  I'll  try  it  when  I  get 
back  to  New  York." 


That  afternoon  was  the  day  of  the  formal  opening  of  the 
hospital  and  dispensary.  The  Sisters'  school  children  had 
a  holiday  and  it  was  a  gala  day  for  the  residents  and  the 
natives. 

The  variety  of  costumes  and  the  different  colors  of  the 
various  races  there  present  revealed  a  picturesque  scene. 
The  beautiful  park  of  Mr.  Winters'  former  residence,  now 
the  convent  grounds,  was  admirably  adapted  to  the  pur- 


256  HOW  IT  ENDED. 

poses  of  a  fete  on  a  large  scale.  Of  course  Claude  and 
Ernest  came  in  for  a  large  share  of  attention,  for  most 
people  knew  the  circumstances  under  which  they  had 
come  all  the  way  from  the  States. 

Many  natives  were  on  the  grounds,  and  expressions  of 
good-will  for  the  Sisters  and  toward  the  Winters  family 
were  numerous.  Mr.  Winters,  viewing  the  animated 
scene  under  the  large  shade  trees,  and  noting  the  change 
of  manner  toward  him,  even  by  the  older  Hindus  who 
had  been  in  years  gone  by  chiefly  instrumental  in  stirring 
up  the  natives  against  him  and  his  family,  realized  how 
wise  had  been  the  advice  of  his  New  York  lawyer. 

The  evening  shades  at  length  settled  down  over  the 
grounds.  The  last  of  the  visitors  had  gone.  Mr.  and 
Mrs.  Winters  were  chatting  with  their  Simla  guests  in  the 
large  drawing-room  of  the  older  villa  across  the  park, 
which  had  once  been  the  residence  of  Colonel  Winters, 
and  was  now,  as  the  reader  remembers,  a  summer  villa 
used  by  the  officers  of  the  garrison  at  Simla  during  the 
heated  term.  Claude  and  Ernest  were  sitting  on  the  steps 
of  the  veranda,  trying  to  catch  a  little  breeze,  for  it  was 
a  very  sultry  night. 

"Where  are  the  boys,  mamma?"  asked  the  now  radiant 
Winters,  of  his  wife. 

"I  believe  they  are  on  the  veranda.  I  saw  them  a 
moment  ago,"  was  the  reply. 

Mr.  Winters  went  to  the  glass  door  leading  out  to  the 
porch. 

"Are  you  there^  Claude?"  he  asked,  peering  into  the 
darkness. 

"Yes,  sir,"  said  the  elder  boy,  jumping  up  at  the  sound 
of  his  father's  voice. 


HOW  IT  ENDED.  257 

"Well,  here's  a  letter  for  you  from  St.  Cuthbert's.  From 
some  bosom  friend,  I  suppose.  It  came  this  afternoon 
by  the  runner,  but  I  was  so  busy  with  the  fete  that  I  for- 
got to  give  it  to  you  before.  Please  excuse  me." 

Claude  lit  the  porch  lamp  and  saw  by  the  address  that 
the  letter  was  from  Ambrose  Bracebridge.  It  contained 
the  glorious  news  for  Claude  of  his  friend's  reception  into 
the  Church.  Claude  read  on  in  a  transport  of  delight. 

"I  believe,"  ran  a  portion  of  it,  "that  to-day  I  am  the 
happiest  man  living.  I  could  not  have  believed  so  much 
joy  could  have  entered  one's  heart  had  I  not  experienced 
it.  My  only  regret  is  that  you  were  not  present  to  share 
it  with  me.  The  good  old  President  was  pleased  to  say 
that  he  found  me  better  instructed  than  he  had  anticipated, 
and  saw  no  reason  for  delaying  my  conditional  baptism. 
So  I  was  baptized  on  the  third  Sunday  of  July.  Father 
and  mother  and  Rose  were  present  in  the  college  chapel 
at  the  ceremony.  Rose  was  much  impressed  and  I  have 
great  hopes  of  her. 

"And  now,  dear  old  Claude,"  the  letter  continued,  "I 
have  some  bad  news  for  you.  You  are  so  far  away  out  of 
the  world — our  world — just  at  present,  that  it  is  more 
than  probable  you  have  not  heard  of  the  death  of  poor 
Gilkins." 

"What's  this?  what's  this?  Surely  I  must  be  dreaming," 
and  Claude  rubbed  his  eyes  to  make  sure  that  he  was  not. 
Going  near  to  the  entrance  lamp  to  see  better,  he  read  on. 

"His  death  happened,  as  far  as  I  can  learn,  in  this  way. 
You  know  his  home  is  a  few  miles  out  of  a  large  city. 
He  went  to  town  one  Saturday  evening  to  visit  a  brother. 
About  nine  o'clock  he  went  to  the  nearest  church  to  go  to 
confession,  telling  his  brother's  wife  that  he  would  be 


258  HOW  IT  ENDED. 

back  about  ten,  as  he  was  going  to  confession,  intending 
to  receive  Holy  Communion  the  next  morning.  He  told 
her  it  was  his  intention  to  receive  every  Sunday  during 
the  vacation.  Those  who  saw  him  in  the  church  during 
his  preparation  said  afterward  that  they  were  impressed 
by  his  earnestness  and  piety.  He  stayed  till  quite  ten 
in  the  church,  making  a  long  thanksgiving  and  prepara- 
tion for  Holy  Communion. 

"When  he  came  out  it  was  very  dark,  and  a  light  rain 
was  falling.  It  seems  he  walked  half  a  block  away  from 
the  church  and  from  the  electric  light  and  then  deter- 
mined to  cross  the  street.  Not  being  over-familiar  with 
the*  speed  of  the  electric  cars,  or  perhaps  being  distracted, 
he  did  not  notice  the  rapid  approach  of  one.  When  he 
heard  the  conductor's  gong,  he  made  a  quick  step  to  get 
out  of  the  way.  The  pavement  was  wet  and  slippery. 
He  slipped  and  in  a  moment  he  was  under  the  wheels  ot 
the  car.  He  lived  but  half  an  hour,  but  long  enough  to 
receive  the  last  sacraments.  At  the  last,  when  he  was 
losing  consciousness,  he  kept  repeating,  'Oh,  Ernie, 
Ernie,  don't,  don't,  don't!'  What  could  he  mean  by 
that  ?  Very,  very  sad,  isn't  it  ?  Poor  old  Gilkins !  and  he 
meant  so  well,  too.  Papa  and  mamma  are  very  much 
grieved  over  his  death." 

"Ernie,"  said  Claude,  very  softly,  "big  Gilkins  is  dead, 
killed  by  a  street  car." 

"What!  Dead!  Gil — "  but  the  boy  stopped,  unable  to 
speak.  For  a  long  time  he  was  silent.  Claude  did  not 
disturb  him.  Sitting  there  on  the  veranda  steps,  Ernest 
cried  long  and  quietly.  His  brother  waited  for  some  time, 
wondering  at  the  strange  silence.  Then  he  sat  down 
next  to  his  brother. 


HOW  IT  ENDED.  259 

"Do  you  know  he  was  calling  your  name  just  before 
he  died  ?  Why  !  Ernie,  you  are  crying !" 

"Did  he?    I  am  glad  of  that.    What  did  he  say?" 

"Some  strange  words — 'Oh,  Ernie,  Ernie,  don't,  don't, 
don't!'  What  did  he  mean  by  that?" 

Little  Ernest  now  sobbed  unrestrainedly. 

"I  never  told  you,  Claude,"  and  the  weeping  boy 
timidly  rested  his  tear-stained  face  on  his  brother's 
shoulder,  but  seemed  afraid  to  look  him  in  the  face. 

"Told  me  what,  Ernie?"  said  Claude,  affectionately. 
"Surely  you  have  not  been  getting  into  trouble." 

"It's  past,  but  it's  a  hor-horrible  story,"  sobbed  the 
boy,  "and  I'm  ashamed  even  to  mention  it.  I  try  not 
even  to  think  of  it." 

"Why,  Ernest,  what  on  earth  are  you  talking  about  ?" 

"About  an  awful  time,  and  what  poor  Clarence  did. 
Oh!  I'm  going  to  pray  for  his  soul  all  my  life,"  said  the 
weeping  boy,  fervently.  "I  never  told  you  about  it, 
Claude,  because  it  was  too  bad.  There  was  a  time  last 
spring  when  I  was  an  awful  bad  boy  in  the  small  division 
yard  at  school.  I  got  in  with  a  crowd  of  bad  boys — and 
they  were  bad,  too!" 

"Oh,  Ernie !  why  did  you  not  let  me  know  ?  I'm  sure  I 
could  have  helped  you." 

"But  I  didn't.  Don't  you  remember  I  kept  away  from 
you  a  good  deal  last  March,  and  you  scolded  me  for  it  ?" 

"I  know  for  a  time  I  did  not  see  much  of  you,  but  I 
never  dreamed  anything  was  wrong." 

"Well,  that  was  the  time.  I,  somehow,  got  mixed  up 
with  these  fellows.  I  smoked  sometimes,  and  some  of 
them  used  awful  bad  language  and  swore,  too,  some- 
times." 


260  BOW  IT  ENDED. 

"And  you?" 

"I  didn't  give  way  to  any  bad  talk,  nor  swear  either, 
because  both  are  too  dreadful,  but  I  listened  very  often. 
Then  I  neglected  my  lessons  and  I  had  a  lot  of  penances 
and  my  notes  were  low  in  that  competition,  and  when  I 
went  to  confession  I  didn't  feel  half  sorry  and  I  was 
pretty  miserable,  and — " 

"And  you  never  told  me  anything  about  all  this.  Oh, 
Ernie!" 

"I  was  afraid." 

"But  what  has  all  this  to  do  with  poor  Gilkins?" 

"Lots,  Claudie.    It  was  just  he  that  did  it  all  for  me." 

"What  are  you  talking  about?  Gilkins  swear  and  talk 
bad!  Nonsense!" 

"No,  no,  no.    You  don't  understand.    He  helped  me." 

"Helped  you — in  what?" 

"Helped  me  to  break  away  from  those  boys.  One  day 
I  was  near  the  division  fence  between  the  two  yards. 
Clarence  heard  me  say  something  he  didn't  like.  I  don't 
know  what  it  was  now,  but  I  know  it  wasn't  swear  words, 
'cause  every  time  I  felt  like  using  them  as  the  others  did 
I  thought  of  mamma  and  Laura,  and  then  I  just  couldn't. 
That  always  checked  me  in  time.  When  Gilkins  heard 
me  say  something  across  the  fence,  he  said: 

"'Oh,  Ernie,  that's  terrible!  Wait  there,  Ernie,  and 
I'll  get  permission,  and  I'll  come  round  and  talk  to  you.' 
In  five  minutes  he  came  and  we  went  for  a  walk.  When 
we  had  got  away  from  the  college  he  began  to  talk  quite 
seriously  to  me." 

"What  did  he  say?" 

"He  told  me  how  my  conduct  would  hurt  you,  Claude, 
if  you  were  to  hear  of  it;  how  it  would  pain  papa  and 


HOW  IT  ENDED,  261 

mamma,  and,  above  all,  how  it  would  lead  to  things 
wrong  and  sinful." 

Claude  Winters  felt  an  unaccountably  large  lump  rising 
in  his  throat,  and  for  a  moment  he  could  not  see  the 
stars  clearly.  Ernest  went  on: 

"Then  he  begged  me,  for  your  sake,  to  have  nothing 
more  to  do  with  the  rough  boys  in  the  small  yard.  And, 
oh,  he  pleaded  so  earnestly,  Claude!  When  I  promised 
him,  he  up  and  kissed  me  on  the  brow  just  like  mother 
does  when  we  kneel  every  night  for  her  blessing  before 
going  to  bed.  He  would  not  leave  me  until  I  had  prom- 
ised to  go  to  confession  that  very  night.  He  was  big  and 
rough,  but  oh,  Claude,  he  was  so  good!" 

"Oh,  Ernest,  Ernest!  All  this,  and  you  never  came  to 
me  through  it  all!  God  bless  poor  Gilkins!" 

The  little  boy  again  laid  his  head  on  his  bigger 
brother's  shoulder.  Once  more  he  wept  undisturbed. 

Claude  was  horrified  at  the  revelation  of  how  near  his 
brother's  first  year  at  St.  Cuthbert's  had  been  to  a  moral 
tragedy — how  nearly  the  fine  gold  had  been  dimmed. 

Bread  cast  upon  the  waters  shall  be  seen  after  many 
days.  Surely  no  good  deed  is  lost;  no  influence  that 
makes  for  good  is  wasted. 

In  all  his  gratitude  to  Gilkins  for  the  good  he  had  done 
to  Ernest,  Claude  Winters  was  utterly  unconscious  that 
it  was  he  himself  that  had  been  chiefly  instrumental  in 
enabling  the  big  boy  to  have  an  influence  for  good.  It 
was  farthest  from  his  thoughts  to  dream  that  the  assist- 
ance given  to  his  own  brother  at  a  critical  period  of  his 
school  life,  never  would,  nor  could,  have  been  exerted, 
had  it  not  been  for  the  influence  of  his  own  uprightness 
and  manly  character  on  Gilkins. 


262  BOW  IT  ENDED. 

Thus  the  shadows  which  had  brooded  for  so  long  a 
time  over  the  family  of  Mr.  Winters  were  lifted  be- 
cause of  his  kindly  deeds  to  the  native  Hindus;  and 
a  more  portentous  shadow,  which  at  one  time  threatened 
the  moral  life  of  Ernest,  was  dissipated  by  the  influence 
of  one  whose  character  had  been  moulded  largely  by 
Claude  himself.  Thank  God  that  in  our  Catholic  colleges 
there  are  many,  many  such  noble  boys  as  Claude  Winters 
of  St.  Cuthbert's. 


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BERKLEYS,  THE.     WIGHT.  o  45 

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BETTER  PART.  o  45 

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EPISODES  OF  THE  PARIS  COMMUNE.     An  Account  of  the  Religious  Perse- 
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o  85 

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8 


FINN,  REV.  F.  J.   S.J.: 

HIS  FIRST  AND  LAST  APPEARANCE.     Illustrated.  i  oo 

THE  BEST  FOOT  FORWARD.  o  8s 

THAT  FOOTBALL  GAME. 

ETHELRED  PRESTON. 

CLAUDE  LIGHTFOOT. 

HARRY  DEE. 

TOM  PLAYFAIR. 

PERCY  WYNN. 

MOSTLY  BOYS.  o  85 

FISHERMAN'S  DAUGHTER.  o  4S 

FIVE  O'CLOCK  STORIES;  or,  The  Old  Tales  Told  Again.  o  75 
FLOWER  OF  THE  FLOCK,  THE,  and  the  Badgers  of  Belmont.  By  MAURICE 

F.  EGAN.  o  85 

FRED'S  LITTLE  DAUGHTER.  By  SARA  TRAINER  SMITH.  o  45 

GERTRUDE'S  EXPERIENCE.  o  45 

GODFREY  THE  HERMIT.  By  CANON  SCHMID.  o  25 

GOLDEN  LILY,  THE.  HINKSON.  o  45 

GREAT  CAPTAIN,  THE.  By  KATHARINE  T.  HINKSON.  o  45 

GREAT-GRANDMOTHER'S  SECRET.  o  45 

HALDEMAN  CHILDREN,  THE.  By  MARY  E.  MANNIX.  o  45 

HARRY  DEE;  or,  Working  it  Out.  By  Father  FINN.  o  85 

HEIR  OF  DREAMS,  AN.  By  SALLIE  MARGARET  O'MALLEY.  o  45 
HER  FATHER'S  RIGHT  HAND.  .  0  45 

HIS  FIRST  AND  LAST  APPEARANCE.  By  Father  FINN.  i  oo 

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HOSTAGE  OF  WAR,  A.  By  MARY  G.  BONESTEEL.  o  45 

HOW  THEY  WORKED  THEIR  WAY.  By  MAURICE  F.  EGAN.  o  75 

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LUTZ.  o  75 

LITTLE  MISSY.  By  MARY  T.  WAGGAMAN.  o  45 

LOYAL  BLUE  AND  ROYAL  SCARLET.  By  MARION  A.  TAGGART.  o  8s 

MADCAP  SET  AT  ST.  ANNE'S.  By  MARION  J.  BRUNOWE.  o  43 

MARCELLE.  A  True  Story.  o  41 

MARY  TRACY'S  FORTUNE.  SADLIER.  o  4J 

MASTER  FRIDOLIN.  By  EMMY  GIEHRL.  o  2> 

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9 


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PICKLE  AND  PEPPER.     By  ELLA  LORAINE  DORSEY.  o  85 

PLAYWATER  PLOT,  THE.     By  MARY  T.  WAGGAMAN.  o  60 

PRIEST  OF  AUVRIGNY.  o  43 

QUEEN'S  PAGE.     By  KATHARINE  TYNAN  HINKSON.  o  45 

RECRUIT  TOMMY  COLLINS.     BONESTEEL.  o  45 

RICHARD;  or,  Devotion  to  the  Stuarts.  o  45 

ROSE  BUSH.     By  Canon  SCHMID.  025 

SEA-GULLS'  ROCK.     By  J.  SANDEAU.  o  45 
SPALDING,    S.J.: 

CAVE    BY    THE    BEECH   FORK.  o  85 

THE  SHERIFF  OF  THE  BEECH  FORK.  o  85 

THE  RACE  FOR  COPPER  ISLAND.  o  85 

STRONG-ARM  OF  AVALON.     By  MARY  T.  WAGGAMAN.  o  85 

SUMMER  AT  WOODVILLE.     By  ANNA  T.  SADLIER.  o  45 

TALES  AND  LEGENDS  OF  THE  MIDDLE  AGES.     F.  DE  CAPELLA.  o  75 

TALES  AND  LEGENDS  SERIES.     3  vols.,each,  o  75 

TALISMAN,  THE.     By  ANNA  T.  SADLIER.  o  60 

TAMING  OF  POLLY.     By  ELLA  LORAINE  DORSEY.  o  85 

THAT  FOOTBALL  GAME;  and  What  Came  of  It.     By  Father  FINN.  o  85 

THREE  GIRLS  AND  ESPECIALLY  ONE.     By  MARION  A.  TAGGART.  o  45 

THREE  LITTLE  KINGS.     By  EMMY  GIEHRL.  o  25 

TOM  PLAYFAIR;  or,  Making  a  Start.     By  Father  FINN.  o  85 

TOM'S  LUCKPOT.     By  MARY  T.  WAGGAMAN.  o  45 

TREASURE  OF  NUGGET  MOUNTAIN.     By  M.  A.  TAGGART.  o  8s 

TWO  LITTLE  GIRLS.     By  LILIAN  MACK.  o  45 

VILLAGE  STEEPLE,  THE.  o  45 
WAGER  OF  GERALD  O'ROURKE,  THE.     FINN-THIELE.                      net,  o  35 

WINNETOU,  THE  APACHE  KNIGHT.     By  MARION  AMES  TAGGART.  o  85 

WRONGFULLY  ACCUSED.     By  WILLIAM  HERCHENBACH.  o  40 

VOUNG  COLOR  GUARD,  THE.     By  MARY  G.  BONESTEEL.  o  45 

NOVELS  AND   STORIES. 

"  BUT  THY  LOVE  AND  THY  GRACE."     Rev.  F.  J.  FINN,  SJ.  i  oo 

CIRCUS  RIDER'S  DAUGHTER,  THE.     A  Novel.     By  F.  v.  BRACKEL.  i   25 
CONNOR  D'ARCY'S  STRUGGLES.     A  Novel.     By  Mrs.  W.  M.  BERTHOLDS. 

i   25 

CORINNE'S  VOW.     WAGGAMAN.  i   25 

DION  AND  THE  SIBYLS.     A  Classic  Novel.     By  MILES  KEON.     Cloth,  i   25 
FABIOLA;   or,  The  Church  of  the  Catacombs.     By  Cardinal  WISEMAN.     Popular 

Illustrated  Edition.  o  90 
FABIOLA'S  SISTERS.     A  Companion  Volume  to  Cardinal  Wiseman's   "Fab- 

iola."     By  A.  C.  CLARKE.  i   25 

FATAL  BEACON,  THE.     A  Novel.     By  F.  v.  BRACKEL.  i   25 

HEARTS  OF  GOLD.     A  Nov«l.     By  I.  EDHOR.  i   25 

HEIRESS  OF  CRONENSTEIN,  THE.     By  the  Countess  HAHN-HAHN.  i   25 

HER  FATHER'S  DAUGHTER.     KATHARINE  TYNAN  HINKSON.  i   25 

IDOLS;  or,  The  Secrets  of  the  Rue  Chaussee  d'Antin.     DE  NAVERY.  i   25 

IN  THE  DAYS  OF  KING  HAL.     By  MARION  AME^  TAGGART.  i   25 

"KIND  HEARTS  AND  CORONETS."     A  Novel.     By  J.  HARRISON.  i   25 

LET  NO  MAN  PUT  ASUNDER,     A  Novel.     By  JOSEPHINE.  MA.RIB.  .  -oo 

IQ 


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MARCELLA  GRACE.    A  Novel.     By  ROSA  MULHOLLAND.     Illustrated  Edition. 

i  25 
MISS  ERIN.  A  Novel.  By  M.  E.  FRANCIS.  i  2S 

MONK'S  PARDON,  THE.     A  Historical  Novel  of  the  Time  of  Philip  IV.  of 

Spain.     By  RAOUL  DE  NAVERY.  t  25 

MR.  BILLY  BUTTONS.     A  Novel.     By  WALTER  LECKY.  i   25 

OUTLAW  OF  CAMARGUE,  THE.     A  Novel.     By  A.  DE  LAMOTHB.  i  25 

PASSING  SHADOWS.     A  Novel.     By  ANTHONY  YORKE.  i   25 

PERE  MONNIER'S  WARD.     A  Novel.     By  WALTER  LECKY.  i  25 

PILKINGTON  HEIR,  THE.     A  Novel.     By  ANNA  T.  SADLIER.  i   25 

PRODIGAL'S  DAUGHTER,  THE.     By  LELIA  HARDIN  BUGG.  i  oo 

RED    INN    OF    ST.    LYPHAR,    THE.     A  Romance  of  La  Vendee.     By  ANNA 
T.  SADLIER.  i   25 

ROMANCE  OF  A  PLAYWRIGHT.     By  Vte.  HENRI  DE  BORNIER.  i  oo 

ROUND    TABLE  OF    THE    REPRESENTATIVE    AMERICAN    CATHOLIC 
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RULER  OF  THE  KINGDOM,  THE.      And  other  Phases  of  Life  and  Character. 
By  GRACE  KEON.                                                                                                     i   25 
THAT  MAN'S  DAUGHTER.     By  HENRY  M.  Ross.                                            i   25 
TRANSPLANTING   OF   TESSIE,    THE.     By  MARY  T.  WAGGAMAN.            o  60 
TRUE  STORY  OF  MASTER  GERARD,  THE.     By  ANNA  T.  SADLIER.         i  25 
UNRAVELING  OF  A  TANGLE,  THE.     A  Novel.     By  MARION  A.  TAGGART.  i   25 
VOCATION  OF  EDWARD  CONWAY.     A  Novel.     By  MAURICE  F.  EGAN.  i   23 
WOMAN  OF  FORTUNE,  A.     By  CHRISTIAN  REID.  i  25 
WORLD  WELL  LOST.     By  ESTHER  ROBERTSON.                                              075 

LIVES   AND   HISTORIES. 

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